The Red Fox
by firebird423
Summary: A new family has entered the Game of Thrones, The Fadyns of Star's Reach in the Vale. Will they rise to power, or crumble to nothingness? A whole host of new characters and new plot lines, all interspersed with old favorites. Takes place mid-season 3, will merge aspects of the books and show.
1. Chapter 1

_Authors Note: Hey Guys, so I just started this story, I'd love for an rates or reviews. I have a general idea of where I'd like the story to go, but am welcome to any suggestions, feel free to PM me any new characters you think could be an interesting addition, I'm always looking for more. This story is probably gonna go off canon later on, but for now I'm sticking to it generally, but if I pass the show I'll probably start looking to the books. I'll do my best to avoid spoilers but some will probably be inevitable. For now, this is just an introductory chapter for a few new characters, but more exposition and elaboration will come in future chapters as well. Let me know what you think! _

_Trysten_

"Here they come boys!"

Trysten Fadyn was sitting astride his horse, surrounded by his father Marius' household guard. His father rode a black destrier, clad in the sky blue and white colors of House Fadyn. He carried a banner with their crest, a fox against a field divided into four quadrants of blue and white. His bastard brother Iagan was on his fathers left.

Trysten was only seventeen, a boy by many's standards, and not quite a man yet. He was new to battle, but his father, the brilliant commander Marius had taught him well, and he had served as a mercenary, gaining experience quickly and earning him a reputation as a clever and fierce commander. He had reddish gold hair, which glinted copper in the sunlight, and bright, golden eyes. Although he was young, he was strong and lean, not big compared to some of the other boys he had grown up with, his half-brother Iagan stood almost a head taller, but not short either. The sunlight gleamed off his polished, silvery white armor, as his Destrier Quicksilver, named for his speed and silver coat, whinnied and pawed at the ground, anticipating the battle to come.

Although traditionally serving the Arryns of the Vale, House Fadyn had taken up arms with the Starks of Winterfell. Although not a vastly powerful house, the Fadyns commanded respect for their skill at arms, and could raise a sizable four thousand men form their seat of Star's Reach, a city located on the coast of the Vale. They defied the wishes of Lady Arryn to remain neutral, and instead chose to serve the King in the North, Robb stark, to honor Marius' friendship with Robb's murdered father, Lord Eddard, who had served alongside him in Robert's Rebellion and then the Greyjoy Rebellion. Now, Starks, Fadyns, and Tullys fought side by side again, although this time against a new threat, the Lannisters.

The Lannister footmen were advancing, sunlight gleaming off their crimson armor. This would be another of the minor skirmishes the Fadyns had fought against the Lannisters, and although vastly outmatched in terms of manpower and resources, Lord Marius was perceptive enough to only fight isolated engagements on his own terms, realizing that Tywin Lannister would never risk an attack on Star's Reach or risk evoking the Vale's wrath. This time, his men held the high ground, occupying a hill on the road to Harrenhall, with a branch of the Trident on their left and woods too their right. There would be no bypassing this fight.

The Fadyn's had taken up position on the hill, with two thousand infantry forming the core of their force, which was centered around the Silverside Marines, the elite shock troops of House Fadyn. The Silversides were a prestigious and old order, formed during the age of Kings to protect the Fadyn's maritime interests from Ironborn raiders. Through years of combat, they had become an elite force of fighters.

The Lannisters had no choice but to advance, sending their skirmishing contingent up to the front lines. His father called for his own archers, and volleys of arrows rained down on the Lannister host, tearing through their ranks and devastating their skirmishers. The Lannister arrows and crossbow bolts took their toll as well though, and men stepped into the gaps to take the place of the fallen Fadyn soldiers. Volleys of arrows peppered Trysten's father's household guard. As a barrage of arrows landed among their ranks, Trysten raised his shield to protect himself, flipping his visor down. He could feel the arrows impact on his shield, chipping away at the Fox insignia on his shield. An arrow glanced off his shoulder guard, bouncing away and embedding in the dirt. He glanced to his left. Daven, his father's master at arms, grinned at him with an insane look on his eyes.

"Retinue! Swing left! We must get a better view of the fighting!" His father shouted, waving the standard. A horn sounded, and the contingent kicked their horses into action, nearly two hundred mounted knights thundering across the battlefield, behind the Fadyn infantry core. More arrows thudded into Trysten's shield, but he paid them no mind. His shield had protected him at Whispering Wood and would protect him again. His father rode ahead of the cavalry, leading the way to get a better view of the skirmish so he could effectively command his men. The wedge stopped at the crest of the hill, giving them a commanding overlook of the battle. The Lannister skirmishers were faltering, their numbers dwindling rapidly. The Fadyn men-at-arms had been relatively unhurt by the harrasment, and their lines remained intact. Horns sounded from the Lannister center, and banners quickly rode from what Trysten presumed to be the Commanding Officer's unit to the other units. He recognized the Lannister Lion, the Dogs of the Cleganes, as well as the colors of Houses Westerling, Marbrand, Lefford, Swyft, and Crakehall. The Lannister infantry advanced, screened by arrow fire from what was left of their archers.

"Today men, we fight for honor! We fight for duty! We fight for our families. The Lannister's seek to sit a bastard tyrant on the Iron Throne! Today, we defy tyranny, and protect our families from the sadist they support! We have all the advantages, and the gods our on our side! Fight hard, and we cannot lose! Fadyn _invicta_!" His father shouted to their men, and a cheers erupted, echoing him.

"Fadyn _invicta_! Fadyn _invicta_! Fadyn i_nvicta_!" They shouted, the unofficial motto of house Fadyn, Fadyn unconquered in old Valyrian. The men beat their swords, spears, and axes against their shields. The Lannisters charged, their infantry slamming into the center of the Fadyn line. Men screamed in agony and pain and the smell of blood and shit filled the air. Trysten grimaced. Combat was never as they described it in the songs. It was ugly. More arrows rained down on the melee, and Lord Marius shouted, wheeling his cavalry around to inspire his men. His visor had been flipped up, so his men could see his face as he shouted words of encouragement to them.

"Hold the line lads! They'll not break us!" He bellowed. Trysten's brother Iagan yelled to him.

"Trysten! He's too far up! He's too far up! His visor is down! We have to bring him back!"

He was right. In his effort to inspire and protect his troops, his father Marius had placed himself in a precarious position. With his visor flipped up, he was dangerously susceptible to the volleys of arrows being loosed into the fray, and a mounted man was a far more obvious target for any footman looking to gain some wealth. Trysten spurred Quicksilver towards his father, sword drawn. Iagan galloped behind him.

"Father!" Trysten shouted, gaining his attention. He was only a few yard away. His father turned to him, a look of realization on his eyes. He was surrounded. The Fadyn center had begun to devolve into a disorganized mass. Suddenly, his father toppled from the saddle.

"NO!" Trysten screamed in agony. Marius hit the ground with a deafening thud, his collapsing on a heap on the ground, an arrow protruding from his side. He heard Iagan gasp behind him. Lannister and Fadyn infantry closed in around his father, and Trysten screamed at them to help pull him to safety, his helm knocked off. He charged Quicksliver into the fray, slashing and hacking at the Lannister infantry as Lords Beckwyth and Seabury and Ser Daven helped pull his father up, into the saddle behind Trysten. His father clutched onto him, breathing shallowly. Trysten wheeled Quicksilver around, galloping back behind the lines. He screamed for a medic, and Maester Ormund ran over to him, bandages in hand. His father groaned as they lifted him out of the saddle onto the ground. The battle raged behind them. Ormund called for more bandages and order Trysten to put pressure on the wound, as blood spilled from the around the shaft of the arrow. His father's blood ran over his hands, warm, staining his father's and his own armor crimson. Tears ran down his face, his father's breathing was becoming shallower. Maester Ormund was working feverishly to save him, and his father coughed up more blood as the Maester broke the shaft of the arrow off, extracting the head. It had punched clean through his father's armor. His father motioned for Trysten to come closer, as his bannermen and Iagan closed in. He pulled Trysten up to his lips, whispering weakly; "These pretenders... they would destroy the realm... if only they could be King of the ashes... You must..." He coughed, blood splattering on Trysten's face but he didn't care, hanging on his father's every word, striving to hear them over the din of battle " You must... serve the true Queen... Only she can rule Westeros... You must... Protect the people... You will be a good Lord... I am proud of you... Serve the people...When I am gone…We shall adapt." He sputtered, his breathing becoming more an more ragged.

"No! You can't die! I need you! Iagan needs you! Your family needs you! You're not going to die!" Then, the ragged breathing stopped. The Maester backed away, shaking his head, a tear running down his cheek. Trysten collapsed over his father's corpse. He heard a strangled gasp escape from Iagan. His body was racked with sobs. He felt a gauntlet on his shoulder. Lord Beckwyth, his father's closest friend, turned towards him. Tears were in his eyes, and he had removed his helm.

"Trysten, the fight isn't done yet. The line is breaking. The men have seen you're father fall, and he will be missed, but if we don't act we cannot win" He said somberly. Men streamed past him, fleeing the battle alone or in pairs. Trysten had seen enough battles to know that that trickle would soon become a tide of men fleeing the front line to safety.

"What's the point?" He sobbed. "My father is dead! Killed by the damn Lannisters! The men have lost heart! The battle is lost."

"Then... Retreat, my lord?" Lord Beckwyth asked, waiting for his order. My Lord. He was the Lord now. He was in command. He recalled his father's last words. _Protect the people_. The Lannister's still sought to place a sadist on the Iron Throne, and the realm still burned. Men still died, fighting for his father. Fighting for him. We shall adapt. The words of House Fadyn. He had to adapt. He needed to protect them. He stood.

"No. The time to mourn will come." He mounted Quicksilver, a determined look in his eye. He shouted commands to his father's, no, his, bannermen.

"Beckwyth, take half the cavalry and see if you can route those damned archers. Iagan, I'm giving you command of the Rangers, take them up the right flank, see if you can put a dent in the Lannister knights, then hit the infantry from behind. I'll take the other half of the cavalry up the center." His lords rode out, banners waving in the breeze behind him. More men streamed past him. They wore his own colors, the Fadyn Fox, the Beckwyth Sharks, the Red and Yellow horses of the Seabury's, his men. They ran from the battle. If he didn't act quickly the line would break and then his men would be butchered. He did the only thing he could think of. He lowered his lance, and charged headlong into the melee.

"FADYN INVICTA!" He screamed, slamming into the line. His lance splintered, impaling a Lannister soldier through the chest, who clutched at it and fell. Blood ran down his silvery armour, making him look like a demon. Trysten fought like a madman, hacking and slashing and Lannister infantry, cutting them down. He was felt a hand on his reigns, and he was thrown from the saddle, landing on the ground in the middle of the fray. He felt a body on top of him, flipping his visor up, a dagger in hand. The Lannister grinned at him with a crooked smile, ready to kill him, until his head was split open by an axe moments later. The Silverside grabbed Trysten, pulling him off the ground. He wrenched his sword free from underneath the Lannister, nodding in thanks to the Silverside, as the man bashed another man with the brunt of his shield, knocking him to the ground before finishing him with a quick blow from his axe. Trysten stabbed at another man, driving his sword through his gut and twisting. The man screamed in agony, but Trysten's bloodlust was up. He screamed incoherently, cutting through the mass of Lannisters, his household guard following behind him, carving a bloody path through the fray. He saw the Fadyn Banner begin to waver, as the Silverside carrying it turned his back. Trysten dropped his shield, grabbing the banner and waving it high for all to see.

"To me! To me! Fadyn _invicta!_ Fadyn _invicta!_" He could sense his men turning around, looking at him. Men paused their flight from the battle, staring at him, and slowly, they rejoined the melee. It started as a trickle of men, returning, charging back in screaming like demons, but as more men saw Trysten, more returned. Seeing the boy-lord, screaming bloody murder, his silver armor stained red with blood, his armor glistening in the sunlight, inspired them, and they returned in a flood, and fought with a vengeance.

_Iagan_

His father was dead. Killed by Lannister archers. His brother was the new lord of Star's Reach. He couldn't help but cry. But there was work that needed to be done, and he had been given a mission. His brother had ordered him to scatter the Lord's retinue and placed him in command of the Rangers.

He knew he could do it. At his disposal, he had nearly five hundred rangers. Armoured knights and skilled scouts, they protected Star's Reach from the hill tribes. They were made up of battle-hardened veterans, and rode the fastest horses Star's Reach had to offer. Each man carried a Dothraki Bow, and was a capable horse archer, as well as a master of camouflage as their job required, but when the time came, they could match the finest knights in Westeros. They had remained hidden in the woods as Lord Marius had ordered, waiting to spring their trap. Now, was their chance. Iagan nodded to his second in command, who blew his warhorn. A volley of arrows slammed into the Lannister Cavalry retinue, tearing through armor and flesh, and sending the retinue reeling in shock, losing almost half their number before the second volley even hit. Men and horses screamed and rolled as arrows ripped through them, completely disoriented as the arrows slammed into their unprotected side from seemingly nowhere.

His men burst out from the woods, lances lowered, all spurring their horses towards the Lannister Cavalry. The Lannisters didn't have a chance. Lances splintered and shattered as the Lannister's failed to coordinate a cohesive charge, and they were quickly routed from the field. Iagan turned his attention to the melee on the hill. Lord Beckwyth had routed the remaining Lannister archers, and Trysten seemed to have control of the melee. He could see the shields of the Silversides returning to combat, and could see the Fadyn banner flying proudly over the melee as men shouted and screamed and bled and died below it. The Lannister banner faltered, and Iagan saw his moment. He wheeled the Ranger cavalry around, charging headlong into the rear of the Lannister lines, shattering them. His sword caught in the throat of a Lannister sargeant, who gurgled blood and fell, clutching his throat. His men had collapsed the Lannister lines, and men fled around them, being cut down as they ran. The battle was theirs.

_Trysten_:

The battle was over. The men cheered, pounding their weapons against their shields as Iagan and his Rangers ran the Lannister's down, cutting them down in their tracks. He cheered with exhilaration. They had won. He was alive. His body ached with exhaustion and sadness as the bloodlust slowly left him, the adrenaline finally running it's course. As he gazed around him, he saw the price they had paid for their victory. He could no longer even grip his sword, and although men gathered around him, cheering, chanting his name. His armor was coated in blood, although none of it appeared to be his. His cloak was tattered, and Quicksilver had run back to the camp. His armor was scratched, but he was lucky. Many men, including his father, had paid the ultimate price for this victory. Some still crawled around, groaning, calling for their mothers or their gods or cursing the day they were born. Some merely whimpered quietly, the last vestiges of life escaping their body. Many more were silent. The grass was slick with blood and the soil had been churned to mud. He watched as Iagan's Rangers chased the Lannisters through the river, cutting them down, as the river ran red. They had won, but at what cost?


	2. Chapter 2 Part 1

_Authors Note:_ _ Hey guys, hope you liked the first chapter, as always, please review and critique, it'll help me write better. Robb is coming up, and this chapter should help introduce some characters and get the ball really rolling. It seems to be a pretty long one, so I'm going to split it into two._

_Chapter Two:_

_Trysten_

It had been a day since the battle. The Lannister force had been completely destroyed, its remnants scattered. The commander of the force had been unknown, probably some garrison commander just looking to link up with a larger force. He might've been killed, or might've simply run off with his tail between his legs. Either way, the Lannister forces in the region had been completely scattered, and the area was now firmly under their control. Trysten had called a meeting of his father's bannermen.

_No, HIS bannermen._ He had to keep correcting himself, it was a strange thought to think he was in command now. His father had been killed, and he was Lord of Star's Reach now. He had already received a letter from Lysa Arryn, demanding he swear fealty to her and return to the Eyrie. His father's cryptic words still echoed in his head though.

_Serve the true Queen._ The true queen. Trysten's head ached. He had sat by his father's bedside that night, keeping a silent vigil over him, pondering what he had meant. Could he mean Lysa? No. He had spent a summer with her and Lord Arryn in the Eyrie. The woman was mad. She had fawned over her newborn baby, obsessing over the sickly thing. Lord Robin was young, naive, sickly, and dull-witted. He couldn't have possibly meant Lady Arryn, her son would never be fit to rule the seven kingdoms, and though he liked the boy, he would never support him, even if Robin was willing to ever leave his castle and fight. Besides, his father had never hid his dislike of Lady Arryn. That much was clear when he had overstepped her and joined Robb Stark in his rebellion. His father mistrusted her and her relationship with Lord Baelish, he couldn't have meant her.

But if not Lady Arryn, who? Cersei? No. Definitely not. Trysten laughed to himself.

"Lord Trysten?" It was Ser Daven, his father's master at arms.

"Daven, come in." He greeted him warmly. Daven had been busy, looking after the men, tending to their needs. He still wore his worn armor, he hadn't taken it off since the battle, a sign of mourning for his Lord Marius. Earlier in the day, Trysten had seen Daven sparring with the men. Trysten remembered his own days as a boy, when Ser Daven had first taught him to fight. Daven had been no older than he was now, he had just earned his knighthood after squiring for his father, and his father had always thought of Daven as another son. He was like an older brother to Trysten, and though he had aged, he had just passed his thirtieth nameday, he still had the youthful vitality Trysten had admired in him. Though today, he was despondent and looked exhausted. His sigil, a black rose, seemed especially grim today.

"You asked for me My Lord?"

"Yes" He answered. "I'm just waiting for the others to come in." As if on cue, his father's other main bannermen entered the tent. Lords Beckwyth and Seabury, talking quietly, Lord Dayport, hobbling in slowly on his bad leg, and Lord Maslyn Eddleston. All of them had served his father faithfully.

"My Lords, please, sit." He said, gesturing to the table on which he had laid out a map of westeros.

"Lord Trysten, your father's death was most unfortunate. I am deeply sorry for your loss. Your father was a good man. One of the most courageous men I had ever known. He will be sorely missed." Lord Dayport said. He had always been a loyal servant of his father's, and Trysten expected Dayport to serve him just as loyally. The man was old, but wise. He had been badly wounded fighting at the Battle of the Trident during Robert's Rebellion, and still walked with a limp to this day. His beard had long gone white, and after Lord Marius' father had been killed, Lord Dayport had taken him in, mentoring him in the Eyrie, where Marius had grown close with Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark. It was Marius' friendship with Eddard that dragged the Fadyns into this war.

"Thank you for your condolences Lord Dayport. It has obviously come to all of your attention that with my father gone, I must fill his place as Lord of Star's Reach. You all faithfully supported my father, will you support me and swear allegiance to me?" Trysten asked.

Lord Beckwyth was the first to speak. "Trysten, you're a good lad. I remember the days you and Errek played in the courtyard as boys, but you're a man now. The war's shown that much, and you showed your mettle during that scrap. For the love I bear you, and you're late father, you have my sword."

"Aye, and mine" Lord Seabury stood.

"And mine" Dayport stood. All eyes turned to Lord Maslyn Eddleston, who remained seated. Maslyn had always been ambitious. A lord of only thirty years of age, he had always hungered for power. The Eddlestons were a powerful family in the Vale, and Trysten knew he needed his support.

"Seven hells. You're still just a lad. Why should I follow you?" He said.

"Why? You served my father. Your father served his father before him. If you won't serve me, fine go. You've yet to wet your sword yet though Maslyn. I've known combat. I've killed men. I've watched my father die. I may be young, but I'm no green boy. If you serve me, I can't promise you power, fame, or glory, but I promise you, I will serve my people, my Lords. If you won't do it for me, do it for my father. He died for his friendship, would you do the same?" The council was silent. Maslyn glowered at Trysten for a moment. Then, he stood, his eyes steeled and determined. He drew his sword from his sheath, walking towards where Trysten sat, at the head of the table. Trysten's own hand reached for his sword hilt, grasping at the pommel. Eddleston stood for a moment in front of Trysten, who now stood. He tossed his sword to the ground.

"You have House Eddleston's support. Use it wisely." He said. Trysten smiled, embracing him. His lords clapped Maslyn on the back, smiling.

_Iagan_

He had been called to the command tent for a meeting of Trysten's war council. All of his father's bannermen had sworn fealty to Trysten. Now, they had to plan their next move. Iagan had been called to represent the Rangers. Although only sixteen, he was already a captain in the Rangers, commanding his own contingent of eighty men. He had first been inducted into the rangers at the age of only thirteen, the youngest Ranger ever inducted, after he stopped an attempt to burn the Godswood in Star's Reach to the ground. Star's Reach had been founded by the first men, and was one of the oldest castles in Westeros. Accordingly, it had one of the largest Godswoods south of the wall, and was the oldest Godswood in the South. When the Andals had first arrived in Westeros, they had attempted to take Star's Reach seven times, and had been repulsed seven times. The Fadyn's adherence to the old gods was still a sore spot for many of the Southron lords, especially the Arryns, who prided themselves on their Andal lineage.

The Rangers had been formed to protect the Godswood, and over the years, their role had evolved into an all purpose elite battalion. As of late, their primary roles had been as scouts, and the Rangers were famed for their stealth capabilities. They were masters of archery, each man skilled with the Dothraki bow, and still rode Dothraki horses, stolen by Galladon the Fox, who became Lord of Star's Reach and founded the Fadyn line. The Ranger's also functioned as the Fadyn's primary combat unit, and had become skilled lancers and knights as they fought the hill tribes that had plagued the Lord's of Star's Reach with raids and attacks.

But Iagan was no Fadyn. Though he was certain his father Marius had loved him, the reminders of his illegitimacy were always present. When he was inducted to the Rangers, he had been forced to create his own sigil. He had chosen a burning weirwood as his sigil, flames surrounding the tree but never consuming it.

He was, however, Trysten's brother, and Ser Quentin, the Ranger's commander, had sent him to represent them on Trysten's council while and the other Ranger contingents scouted for signs of Lannister activity. When he entered the war tent, council was already in session, in the midst of heated debate. Lord Dayport had advised Trysten to return to the Vale, his father's war was not his own, he stated.

Lord Seabury however, staunchly opposed him. Seabury always was looking for a fight, he thought with a grin. The man was strong, in his mid forties but he could still swing a war hammer better than Robert Baratheon himself.

The debate went silent as Iagan entered the room. Trysten stood, looking at the war map spread in front of him, Lannister lions, Stark Direwolves, Tully Trout, Baratheon Stags and Fadyn Foxes decorated the map, placed to represent the major armies. Trysten, noting the silence, turned. Seeing his half-brother, he gave a sad smile, embracing his brother in a hug.

"It's good to see you brother, I need you here, save me from these blasted Lords" he whispered to Iagan. Iagan had to stifle a laugh. Trysten always knew how to see the humor in the darkest situations.

Iagan took his place at the table, sitting down. Lord Seabury regarded him coldly, he had never been fond of Iagan. Maslyn Eddleston regarded him with that same disinterested look as always. Lord Dayport nodded at him politely, and Lord Beckwyth returned to the discussion.

"We should head south. With that last force destroyed, the Riverlands have been left open. If we drive south, we could retake what the Lannisters have destroyed and catch them off guard. Maybe we could even drag that damned Tywin Lannister out of Harrenhall after us."

"Nonsense, Tywin would never leave that fortress. We should head back to Star's Reach, My Lord. This war is none of our business, and Lady Arryn has demanded our presence at court. It would be wise to avoid angering her." Lord Dayport retorted.

Lord Seabury spoke up "What, and run back to our castles with our tails between our legs? The Lords of the Vale are already seen as cowards enough, hiding behind their walls and simply waiting this war out. If we show a strong front, we could earn the respect of the rest of the realm. I say we head north, join our forces with Robb Starks. The Young Wolf hasn't lost a battle yet, and we could bolster his forces with our own. There's strength in numbers. Swear fealty to Robb, your father served him, Lord Trysten, why shouldn't you?"

The council erupted into shouts. "Swear fealty to a northman? Never!" Beckwyth shouted. "It's madness! We have a chance to rescind our treason!" Dayport said. The shouts had become indistinguishable. Iagan sat silently, listening, just as Trysten did. Trysten smashed his fist on the table, causing the pieces to jump. The tent went silent.

"Iagan, what do you think?" He asked. Iagan paused for a moment, considering the options.

"It seems to me my Lord" he paused again, gods it was strange calling him that, " that if we drove South, we could retake the conquered Riverlands. But Tywin Lannister is no fool. He'd never be leave Harrenhall to chase us. He'd send his dogs to do it for him, and we'd be cut off, with no reinforcements. We are not a large force, if they caught us in a fair fight they'd destroy us. To fight them alone we'd have to continue to pick them off piecemeal. If we head back to the Vale, Lady Arryn will demand our fealty and withdrawal from the war. If I may speak frankly, the woman is a bit mad, and what would it say about us if we simply abandoned the cause, especially one that father died fighting for. I say we go north, meet with Robb Stark. We still fight for him, he deserves to know our plans. We don't need to swear fealty to him, but at least make it clear he still has our support, and learn what his plans are." Iagan said. The chamber was silent for a moment.

"The bastard's idea has merit." Lord Seabury said. Lord Beckwyth, Lord Eddleston, and Ser Daven nodded in agreement. Lord Dayport sighed.

"I'm getting to old for this blasted war. If we do choose to throw our lot in with the Starks, then Iagan's plan makes the most sense." Dayport said.

Ser Daven spoke up. "My Lord, I served your father as his master-at-arms for years. Before that, I served him as a squire. Allow me to serve him one more time, let me bring him back to Star's Reach to be buried. He deserves to be with his ancestors, not in some grave here in the Riverlands."

Trysten nodded. "It's settled then. Daven, you will head back to Star's Reach, take the wounded with you. As for the rest of us, we ride for the Stark camp. Have your men ready to ride by tomorrow." The council nodded, standing up and exiting the tent. As the other lords left, Trysten called Iagan back.

"Thanks for the advice. You did well. Father would be proud."

"Of course. I know you're taking it hard. I know you're under a lot of pressure, but if you ever need to talk..." He trailed off. Trysten nodded.

"Thanks. I'll remember that. It's been tough, but there'll be time to mourn later. Right now, there's work to be done. We shall adapt, right?" He asked with a sad smile.

"We shall adapt. Fadyn Invicta." Iagan smiled back. He walked out of the tent. There Trysten was right. There was work to be done, and his men needed to be ready. He walked to his own tent to begin preparing for the journey.


	3. Chapter 2 Part 2

_Authors Note: Hey guys, I promised the second half of chapter two, here it is. Thanks so much to everyone who followed, as always please review and follow, it lets me know how I'm writing. Also, I'm still looking for any other characters, so if you have someone interesting please PM me. Hope you enjoy!_

_Tywin_

The damn Fadyns had destroyed his newest host. He had been sitting in the great hall of Harrenhall. He had sent the captain of his guard south to raise a new group of levies so he could take Robb Stark in the field, but the damn Fadyns had intercepted the recruits and scattered his host. His captain of the guard had given him the news. His horse collapsed from exhaustion after taking him from the battle all the way to Harrenhall, and he had not lasted much longer. A pity, now Tywin had to send someone else to take his place. Perhaps Lord Lefford or another of his bannermen. The damned foxes were clever, that much was true. The only consolation he had received for the loss of his men was the knowledge that Lord Marius Fadyn had been killed in the fighting, succeeded by his son Trysten. Good riddance. Tywin had always hated Marius. The man was a brilliant strategist, that much was true, but he was too damned self-righteous, like Eddard Stark. Funny how the righteous ones always end up dead. Tywin chuckled to himself.

The boy could be a threat though. He was already widely popular with the smallfolk, they called him "The Red Fox". He had taken command of his men after his father had been killed, and utterly routed his forces. To be fair, Tywin's late captain was a fool, attacking a superior force uphill head on, but he the boy had been clever. He had sprung an ambush with his crack shock troops, charging into the fray to inspire his men. A cunning little fox.

The Fadyns had been a pain in Tywins side for too long. They had been smart enough to never engage Tywin in a pitched battle, instead ambushing his supply trains, picking off his scouts, intercepting his forces, and generally making a nuisance of themselves. But the fox would learn not to fight the lion. The Lion had claws and teeth, and Tywin would do what he did with all the other foxes. He would burn them out. He was going hunting. He called Ser Gregor Clegane to his chambers.

_Trysten_

He had arrived at the Stark camp. It had been five days since the battle, five days since his father's death and he became Lord. Upon his arrival, he tied up Quicksilver in the stables, seeing to his grooming and care before going to check in on his men. His father had always told him that a Lord's first priority should be the wellbeing of the men who serve him, who are willing to give their lives for him.

Robb Stark had summoned him to his command tent. He was nervous. He hadn't seen Robb since his visit to Winterfell with his father after his eleventh name day. Robb had always been kind to him, and he had stayed in Winterfell for almost eight months while his father was overseas. But war changed men. Though he and Robb had been friends, who has to say that Robb hadn't changed, or that he hadn't.

He lifted the flap of the command tent. Robb sat in a throne in the center of the tent, flanked by his mother and a woman who Trysten presumed to be his wife. He had heard Robb had gotten married to some Volantene girl. She was beautiful, that much was true. Robb had grown. He had grown a beard, or at least some scruff. His bannermen stood behind him. Trysten recognized Lords Bolton and the Greatjon. They had both visited Winterfell during his stay there. He walked into the tent, kneeling in the center.

"Your Grace". He said cautiously.

"Lord Trysten, it's good to see you." Robb smiled. Apparently he had not forgotten their friendship either.

"You remember my mother, Lady Catelyn" Robb said, Trysten nodded.

"Lady Catelyn, it's good to see you."

"Trysten, my how you've grown. My deepest condolences for your loss."

"Thank you my lady." Trysten nodded politely.

"And this is my wife. Queen Talisa Maegyr." Trysten nodded, getting a better look at Robb's wife now as she rose to greet him. She presented her hand, and he kissed it politely.

"Your grace, I had heard you were beautiful, but the tales understate it." It was true. She was tall, with beautiful brown hair and a strong, lithe body.

"Thank you Lord Trysten, I've heard much about you from my husband." She smiled at him.

"Thats enough flirting thank you, I remind you that is my wife!" Robb shouted at him, dead serious. The room was completely silent. Trysten wasn't sure what to do, he could feel his heart racing.

"Your grace, I hadn't meant to offend I-" Robb cut him off, laughing. He smiled.

"I was merely joking my Lord, don't be so serious" he said with a laugh. "My lords, leave Lord Trysten and I, we have much to talk about, he said with a smile, gesturing to his bannermen to dismiss them. The other occupants of the tent exited. When they were gone, Robb stood.

"Enough of the damn formalities." He hugged Trysten. "It's good to see you my friend."

"You too Robb" Trysten smiled, glad to see Robb hadn't changed.

"Let us walk". Robb guided him out of his tent, walking around the camp. Stark men-at-arms walked through the camp, and Trysten could here the sounds of laughter and steel on steel echoing through the camp. His own banners mingled with the Starks.

"You've grown Trysten, you look good. Still can't grow a beard on that face of yours to save a life though." He said with a laugh.

"I'll take that over the peach fuzz you've grown out." Trysten responded, grinning. Robb whistled, his Direwolf Grey Wind came running too him. Trysten started.

"It's okay, he's tame, his name is Grey Wind." Trysten took a step towards the massive wolf.

"May I?"

"Be my guest." Trysten examined Grey Wind, letting him sniff his palm and petting him. Grey Winds tail began to wag.

"He likes you," Robb said laughing. "You always did have a way with animals. Still raising foxes?"

"Yeah, Grey Wind reminds me a lot of Mickel". Trysten thought back to his pet fox. Normally, Mickel would have come with him on his travels, riding in a seat attached to his saddle on Quicksilver. But, Mickel had had pups, and Trysten hadn't wanted to take him on campaign.

"I miss him, I miss home." He said. Robb nodded, understanding.

"We've been forced to grow up. I'm sorry about your father. He was a good man." Robb's mood turned somber.

"Yours too. We'll get our revenge. He always was a noble man. He'd be proud of you." Robb gave him a sad smile.

"I broke my oath. I married Talisa."

"Frey won't like it, do you truly love her?" Robb suddenly grew distant.

"With all my heart." Trysten smiled at him. He had never been in love, he knew he couldn't relate.

"I'm happy for you. She seems like a nice girl. The young wolf needs to build a pack." Trysten said with a smirk. Robb grinned at his implication.

"And the red fox doesn't? You know that's what they call you now. Aren't we quite the pair. The red fox and the young wolf. I always new that hair of yours would get you into trouble." Trysten feigned offense as Robb tousled his hair. Trysten punched him in his arm. Robb laughed.

"You never could punch."

"I still hit better than Jon." Robb laughed again.

"It really is good to see you Trysten. It reminds me of when we were younger. I'm glad to see nothing's changed. You're still a good man."

"Thank you your grace."

"Trysten, I know you're Lords said you wouldn't swear fealty to me. I understand. But you do still serve me in this war, do you not?"

"Of course Robb."

"Then I have a favor to ask. Talisa's father is powerful. He lives in Volantis, and has wealth and power. We need his money and his men. You've been east, correct?"

"Yeah, I served in the second sons for two years, all Fadyns do. We were in the free cities for the most part. "

"Good. I need an ambassador to Lord Maegyr. I'd send someone else, but Theon is in the Iron Islands, Jon is at the wall, I need my bannermen here, and I'd send my mother or Talisa but I fear for their safety on the journey. You're my friend. I need someone I can trust to represent me overseas. Can I count on you?"

"But, my men your grace. Who will lead them in my stead?"

"You can nominate your representative. Maybe your brother or uncle Scipio? I trust he is well?"

"Yes, he just returned from another tour with the second sons. He could do well."

"Then you'll go?"

"I am at your service your grace. I'll leave tomorrow for Star's Reach where I'll take a ship to Volantis to meet with Lord Maegyr." Robb smiled gratefully.

"Thank you Trysten."


	4. Chapter 3

_Authors Note: Hey guys, here's chapter three, hope you guys are enjoying it so far. If you are please review or PM me. If anyone has any comments on the OC characters so far or may portrayal of the original characters please let me know, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Things are starting to be set in motion now, so please bear with me! Also, as I've said before, I'm still looking for a few other original characters to add in, and if you have one you think you'd like included please please please message me, and I'll do my best to work them in, I'd like to make this a bit more inclusive of people. Anyways, here it is, let me know what you think! Anyways, here it is, enjoy! _

_Iagan:_

His uncle Scipio had taken command while his half-brother Trysten had left for Star's Reach so he could travel to Volantis on a diplomatic mission. Meanwhile, he was still here, still commanding his company of Rangers.

Scipio was his father's older brother, and by right he should have inherited Star's Reach. However, Scipio had fallen in love with Hannah Thorne, a bastard daughter of some Tyrell man during Robert's Rebellion. Hannah was loved by the Tyrells, and Scipio was happy with her, but Scipio and his own father's father Marcus had betrothed Scipio to Sussana Tanier, daughter of Lord Tanier of the Shimmering Atoll. Marcus had disowned Scipio and Marius married Lady Sussana instead. Scipio had left Star's Reach, serving as a member of the Second Sons for ten years, before returning to Star's Reach when he recieved news of his father's illness which would eventually kill him, after which Marius allowed him to return.

However, the black mark on his honor and his disownment never left him, and caused him to adopt his banner, earning him the nickname "the Black Fox". Scipio was a hard man from his years as a mercenary, but he had shown Iagan a degree of love and respect no one ever had, even his father. Scipio understood him, as he had experienced the feeling of being a bastard. He had been living in Highgarden, but word was that he was riding to the Stark camp to take command, bringing his son Ormund with him. Ormund was four years older than Iagan, almost twenty, but they had always been friends.

He surveyed the terrain before him. A wide expanse of plain, fields of wheat and grasses. Robb had sent the Rangers on a scouting mission south, to Harrenhall. Iagan had ridden ahead with two of his lieutenants, Galtry and Crispian. They were both Ranger outriders. The outriders were the most experienced Rangers, constantly serving as scouts and the best stealth soldiers at his disposal. The smallfolk had concoted rumors about the outriders, telling each other they used black magic and secret rites to become invisible and strike without warning, or that they were vengeful spirits, or demons, but Iagan new it was simply a result of years of training, combined with their camouflage cloaks. Nevertheless, the outrider's ability to appear and disappear at will was uncanny, and Crispian's sudden appearance startled him. He had seemingly come from nowhere. These men were good, his most experienced.

"Captain, we've spotted a Lannister caravan, moving south. Fifty guards as an escort, all mounted. They haven't seemed to have posted any sentries. Six wagons, they seem to be carrying weapons and supplies." Iagan nodded, he had counted roughly as many when as the convoy passed them, only forty paces away. He hadn't been seen though, his cloak helped him blend in among the grass and rocks, and the Lannisters had been completely oblivious to the fact that they were being watched. He could've picked off six of them with his bow before they even knew they were under attack.

_ Fifty though, good_, he thought. Although he barely outnumbered the Lannister convoy, his men were all veteran fighters. When he had taken over, he had been given Company Nympha, the worst company in the rangers. The men had been drunk more often than not, and their skill on horseback was laughable. When he had been given command though, he whipped them into shape, turning the Nymphs, as they were affectionately called, into one of the finest units in the rangers. Crispian and Galtry had been with him from the beginning, each grizzled veterans of numerous fights with the hill tribes.

His men could handle the Lannisters, they had the element of surprise, and his men could pick a man on horseback off with their Dothraki bows at four hundred paces. Now, he just needed to find the right spot to spring a trap. He crawled forward, his cloak concealing him, just as he had been taught, silent and invisible. When he reached the edge of the rock face, he surveyed the road. For the most part, the road ran through relatively open space, a few minor hills and knolls spotted the landscape, but no real cover to speak of, this would be more difficult than he thought. However, there was a small section of road that ran between two small hills. He could conceal his men on the reverse slope, and fire into the convoy from over the hill. Perfect.

"Lieutenant Galtry, take your unit around the reverse slope of that hill there, on the left," he whispered, gesturing too the far hill. "Crispian, you'll be with me, we'll conceal on the right. Galtry, when I give the signal, have your men shoot first. When you hear the horn, charge." Galtry nodded, crawling back behind the hill and mounting his horse, splitting his men off from the main company. As their hoofbeats faded away, Iagan took his men and rode around to the other hill, carefully concealing his men from the Lannisters as they rode.

They arrived behind the hill, and Iagan knocked an arrow and released, a message tied to it confirming they were in position, and asking if Lieutenant Galtry was as well. Moment later, they received the reply. They were in position, now, they just had to wait.

_Four hours later_

It was getting late. The convoy had been stopped for nearly two hours as a wagon had broken, its wheel stuck in the mud. Waiting was always the worst part. His men got jittery, and it only became harder because none of them could move a muscle, or they would be exposed. Each man knew it, and each man remained perfectly still, only moving to sway with the breeze and stay concealed in the tall grass. The Lannister column was back on the move though. They were only about a hundred yards from the ambush site. The sentries for the column passed in between the hills.

_Fools_. Iagan thought. They were riding in perfect order, completely predictable, not straying from the road at all. If any Ranger scouted like that, they would be punished. The Lannisters had grown overconfident. They thought they were safe, nearly thirty miles behind the front lines. But they had infiltrated in, and this time, their hubris would be their undoing. Iagan smiled to himself. It was too easy. The center of the column passed into the ravine, obscuring themselves from sight. His men would be firing blind, but the mass of arrows alone would be enough to deal some serious damage on the first strike. He whistled, mimicking the song of a mockingbird. From across the road, he heard Galtry whistle back from his own position. He nodded to his men, they were ready.

He silently drew his Dothraki composite bow from its position, careful not to clank it against his sword as he had been taught. He drew three arrows from his quiver, knocking one, drawing the bow back to his ear, ready to fire. He waited for a moment.

Then, he released. The second his arrow was in the air, his men loosed their arrows too, a flight of death hurtling through the air completely unnoticed, never making a sound. In quick succession, Iagan loosed his other two arrows, both leaving his bow before his first had even struck. His men raced to their horses, listening, waiting.

He knew when the first volley hit. He could hear the Lannister men and horses scream. He watched the sky, waiting for Galtry's men to fire their arrows. The Ranger's had always taught them to never attack from to sides simultaneously. Let the enemy gain their composure for a moment, let them turn to face where they think the attack will come from, then, hit them again from behind, and this is exactly what they did. Iagan imagined the Lannister guards turning, beginning to regain their wits after hell had rained down on them, the third volley of arrows just making its impact and the survivors beginning to organize, just as Galtry's first flight landed amongst their ranks, striking them in the back and disorienting them again. He could smell the blood and shit on the air. His men had saddled up, and he grabbed his lance, preparing to lead his men over the crest of the hill, spurring his horse into a run over the crest, his men keeping in line with him.

When he reached the crest of the hill, he gave a whoop, lowering his lance and charging down into the Lannister baggage train. The arrows had taken their toll, but as expected, they had not finished the Lannisters off. Too the Lannisters, it appeared that these riders had come from nowhere, suddenly charging down into their ranks. Men lay scattered across the rode, turned into pincushions by the arrows. A horse thrashed on the ground, kicking and braying with three arrows in its side, the cart it was carrying toppled over on top of the driver, who was still. Time seemed to slow. A Lannister clutched at an arrow embedded in his back as another from Crispian, who carrying his lance on his back was still firing into the convoy at any targets of rank, tore into his throat. Crispian placed his bow over his shoulder, grabbing his lance and lowering it, just in time to spear another guard through the back. Another Ranger Outrider hurled his lance, catching a cart driver in the gut and sending him toppling over, his horse running in panic and dragged the cart across the road, sending two more Lannisters toppling over as it hit them. All hell had broken loose. Iagan screamed at the top of his lungs, driving his lance into a soldier who had managed to get his shield up and stand against the charge, driving the man down into the ground from the impact. The lance was jarred out of his hands, and he drew his sword, slashing another man across the throat as he jabbed at his horse with a spear. The man toppled over. Galtry's riders had just crested the hill, and charged down from the opposite side, crushing the Lannisters between the two charges.

In moments, the fight was over. Iagan surveyed the road. Some of the carts blocked the road, Lannister dead heaped over them, they must've tried to take cover behind them. One had flipped over into a ditch. Lannister soldiers lay strewn across the road, some dead by arrows and some by lances or swords. Equipment lay strewn across the road. Iagan survey his own losses. Two rangers were helping another, limping, to his horse, a cut across his thigh. Two ranger horses lay dead, killed by Lannister soldiers during the charge, and another had a sprained ankle. Other than a few minor scrapes and bruises though, his men were largely unharmed. Iagan breathed a sigh of relief. He ordered his men to search the baggage for anything useful, and burn the rest.

As they rifled through the equipment, they didn't find much of use. A few letters from Tywin Lannister, some armor and weapons, which they quickly confiscated, stripping the corpses of theirs as well, and some assorted food and supplies like bandages and poultices, which they heaped on their saddles to take back to camp. The war effort needed all the supplies it could get. Iagan smelled smoke on the wind. He smiled, his men were destroying the supply train, leaving no trace of their attack other than charred corpses and the frames of the wagons. He was proud of his men. They had adopted the Ranger dogma, and the lack of any evidence of their attack would only fuel the rumors and terror that surrounded them.

He turned to take a glance at his soldiers as Galtry handed him the letters to read over.

"Found these in the wagon, thought you might want to take a look at them. We did it captain." He said with a smile. Iagan looked around at the road. There was no fire. Nothing had been burned yet, his men were still piling the corpses to be burned. He could smell the smoke though. It was filling the air. He began to hear hoofbeats in the distance. It took him a moment to process before he realized what was going on.

"Horses! To your horses! Saddle up! NOW!" He shouted to his men. They paused for a moment, looking at him in confusion, before three of them were struck down with arrows. That was all it took, and as his Rangers grabbed their fallen comrades, pulling them into the saddle behind them. He ran to his own horse, spurring it into a gallop, leading his men over the crest of the hill, his men galloping behind him, fleeing the ambush.

He reached the crest of the hill and realized with horror, that the plains were aflame. Fire was spreading across the plains, burning through the dry grass and rushing towards them at a staggering pace. He wheeled his horse around, yanking back on the reigns with all his might as his horse reared to avoid the flames which were now licking at the grass. More arrows slammed into the company, knocking a few men from their saddles, but they couldn't stop to grab them, the flames were pursuing them. He turned, digging into his horses sides with his spurs to force him to run faster. They were losing ground. He heard horns to his right. To his dismay, he saw another contingent of riders, this one carrying the Clegane banner, racing towards them. Some of his men shouted in horror.

"Bows! Bows! On the right! Keep moving!" He shouted, pulling his own bow from behind him and grabbing an arrow from the quiver, loosing arrows into the mass of riders. There were at least two hundred, and he saw more of his men loose their own arrows into the formation, watching as horses and riders tumbled from their saddles. He steered his horse towards the woods with his feet, as he had learned to do, in the Dothraki riding style. His men raced alongside him, as more arrows tore through their ranks. The Clegane forces were gaining on them, as the heat from the flames scorched his back. Sweat dripped down from his forehead as he launched more arrows into the cavalry which was moving to intercept them. He took careful aim, sending more men tumbling to the ground. The cavalry kept coming though. Iagan's spurs dug into his horses sides, drawing blood. The smoke was becoming thick, obscuring his vision. His eyes began to tear up, and as the smoke became thicker he had more and more trouble seeing the rest of his men.

"Make for the treeline!" He shouted. "Rendevous at the cave!" He hollered, hoping his men could hear him over the roar of the fire and the screams of the wounded. The smoke was becoming so thick he could only see the men directly around him, all of them riding as hard as he was. Flames engulfed the field, and through the smoke he could see the Clegane banner. He blinked tears away from his eyes, taking careful aim, loosing his arrow at the man and tearing him from the saddle as the arrow caught him in the face, punching through his visor. Iagan fired more arrows into the smoke, where he could hear the Clegane soldiers shouting. He reached for another arrow from his quiver, but it was empty. He looked around to the men he could see, as flames singed his cloak. He could hear his horses panicked cries as the flames raced closer, rapidly closing the distance. His men were out of arrows too.

The smoke was unbearable now. Iagan felt himself getting light headed. As he felt himself starting to drift off, he was jolted awake as his horse jumped a creek. Cool water splashed at his face. His horse carried him into the forest, out of the fields. More Rangers raced alongside him, becoming more and more apparent as the smoke cleared, the fire unable to cross the creek. Iagan fell from his saddle, doing his best to grab his equipment. He knew the Clegane men would not be far behind and would follow them. Grabbing his sword and pack, Iagan slapped his horse on the rump, sending it racing off into the woods, but not before grabbing the Ranger clasp from its reigns, leaving no trace. His men did the same, and he ducked into the woods, racing away from the creek and deeper into the brush, brambles scratching his face and tearing at his singed, tattered, Ranger cloak. He hauled himself up into a tree, silently thanking the gods the Rangers had taught him to do so, and praying that his fear of heights would go away. He heard hoofbeats draw nearer, as Clegane riders raced through the underbrush, following the tracks of his horse.

_Thank the gods they never look up_, Iagan thought to himself. He climbed higher up into the tree, into the canopy of the forest. What he saw horrified him. The fire was finally dying down, having consumed the plains entirely. Embers and small patches of flames still dotted the landscape as smoke billowed up from the ground.

_Two hours later_

Two more groups of Clegane horsemen had passed him, laughing and joking at the butchery of his men. Night had fallen though, and Iagan climbed down from the tree, knowing there would be no more parties searching for them tonight. Smoke obscured the moon. He could feel the soot on his face and hands, blackening them. He whistled his mockingbird call. He got a few weak responses, as more Rangers revealed themselves from the underbrush, only about eighteen in all.

"We were ambushed sir. I'm not sure how many made it out." It was Crispian. He had survived, but an arrow shaft protruded from his calf, though the blood had long since stopped. His men looked awful. Their weapons and armor were coated in soot, and most of their cloaks were tattered and singed, or simply torn to pieces. He imagined he probably didn't look much better.

Their faces were all bleak with exhaustion. It was getting colder as well. He would've built a fire, but they were being hunted, and it would only give the mountain a trail to follow and a signal. As he examined what was left of his unit, he realized most of the men had no arrows or only a handful. Fewer had their kits, though most still carried their swords, as well as any axes or knives they normally carried as well. The attack had devastated them. The men looked to him for guidance.

"We'll spend the night here. I told the other's we'd meet them at the cave. They'll be there. We can't be the only ones who made it out." He told his men reassuringly. He wished he could convince himself though. In his mind, he silently berated himself for being so stupid.

_ How could you be so stupid? An under-manned convoy with only fifty men? They hadn't even set sentries. It had been too easy. You knew it was too easy, and you let your guard down. They wanted us to attack them! They had Gregor-fucking- Clegane waiting the whole didn't even post sentries to watch during the mop up. You got complacent. And now your men are dead because of you! Galtry is probably dead, and most of the unit, because of you. They trusted you! And you killed them! _He was seething with rage. Rage at himself, rage at the Lannisters, rage at Trysten, all of them. He wanted to scream, but he knew it might attract attention, and they were in no position to hold off another attack. Instead, he merely kicked his pack, furious at himself for being so careless.

"I'll take first watch. Get some rest boys, we move at first light." He said, and his men bedded down for the night, falling fast asleep, completely exhausted.

_Trysten_

He had ridden from the Stark encampment at first light with a retinue of thirty men, heading back towards Star's Reach. They had been riding for three days, and had passed through the bloody gate earlier that morning. With any luck, they would be back at Star's Reach early in the afternoon. It was about midday, and Trysten's stomach rumbled hungrily. He ignored it though, he would eat when he was finally home.

It had been nearly three years since Trysten had last been home, he had travelled far and wide, serving with the Second Sons and alongside his father in the war. He missed his family. He hadn't seen his sisters Maerisa or Tania since he had left home, nor his youngest brother Seamus, or his mother Susanna. Ser Daven had probably arrived earlier in the week, and his father buried already. He felt guilty. He knew he should've accompanied Ser Daven back to Star's Reach, to comfort his family, but the war had taken him elsewhere.

He could smell the ocean on the breeze, he knew he was getting close. He passed over a bridge, crossing the gap between two mountains, and following the winding trail to the peak. He knew he would be home soon. Behind this mountain was the valley where Star's Reach was nestled. Legend said that Rodrick Nors, a northman distantly related to Bran the Builder, and thus the Starks, had taken a group of Northern refugees south, fleeing the White Walkers in the days before the Wall had been built. They had fled south, eventually reaching the Vale. After days of hard marching and hiking through the inhospitable mountains, Rodrick begged the Old gods for a sign of where to settle, and that night, a star had fallen, crashing into the earth in front of the Weirwood tree that would eventually become the center of the Star's Reach Godswood, and Rodrick and his followers had settled there.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, and Trysten knew this forest was filled with game. He had caught his first fox here, and he knew that more wild game occupied these woods. The trees were ancient, old oaks, pines, and sycamores, each one contributing to the verdant canopy. Quicksilver trotted along, he knew this path by heart. As they crested the hill, Trysten sucked in a breath. Although he had lived here all his life, the beauty of Star's Reach never ceased to impress him. The woods covered the reverse slope of the mountain, streaking down towards the valley before they were gradually replaced with orchards, vineyards, and farms. Streams trickled through the valley from the mountains, cascading off the cliffs on the other side of the valley into small pools which flowed into the ocean. The ocean was a deep aquamarine hue, and he could see merchant ships and fishing vessels sailing around the bay, as the waves licked at the beach. The city spread out along the shore, ringed by white walls. Smoke rose from the blacksmith and artisan's district, and he could see the marbled domes of the Sept and the braziers around the temple of R'hllor. Although the Fadyns had always kept the old gods, the use of Star's Reach as a bustling trade port meant that all the major faiths were represented in the city. In the distance, he could see the walls of the StarFort, a seven sided fort which guarded the entrance to the bay. It had huge ballista mounted on its redoubts, capable of sinking any ships that tried to gain entry, and capable of raising massive chains to block the entrance to the bay. In times of danger, if the castle ever fell, the Fadyns could evacuate to the StarFort over a small bridge which connected them.

And carved into the side of the mountain on the other side of the valley was his home. The castle was imposing yet beautiful. It was made of white marble and limestone, overlooking the valley and the city. The walls were large, and towers ringed the perimeter. His father had always told him that in the event of an attack, five hundred defenders could hold the castle against ten thousand, and history had proven that true, as Star's Reach had never fallen, repulsing attacks from the Andals, the hill tribes, and the kings of the Vale until finally swearing fealty to the Targaeryns during Aegon's conquest of Westeros. Trysten knew a siege would be no more successful, the castle was almost self sufficient due to it's location. Situated on the mountaintop and carved into the cliffs, the wells in the castle could keep them supplied with water, and small apple orchards and access to the sea would keep them well stocked with food. He rode down into the valley, his banner streaming behind him. The smallfolk working the farms and orchards waved at him as he passed, and he waved back. He had forgotten how much he missed home.

Passing through the city gates, he made his way up the streets to the castle. He crossed the stone bridge to the Castle gates, and the guards waved him through, welcoming him home. Fadyn banners decorated the walls, waving in the breeze. He could hear the gulls calling to each other on the air. It was a beautiful day to return home. When he entered the central grounds, his mother and siblings were waiting for him. He dismounted, and he walked towards them. His youngest brother Seamus ran to him, leaping into his arms and hugging him. The last time he had seen him, he was a boy of only four, but now he had grown.

"You've gotten big! Its good to see you!" He said. Seamus smiled. Trysten tousled his hair, the same shade of red as his own.

"Ser Daven says he's going to start training me in the yard! He says he'll teach me to joust soon." He said excitedly.

"And I'm sure you'll be the finest knight in all of Westeros" he said with a laugh.

His sister Maerisa walked up to him.

"Welcome home brother. It's good to see you again." She said with a smile.

"Gods you've gotten beautiful. You must have the knights lined up to court you" He said, making her blush. He had heard his men call her "the mountain rose", and they did not underestimate her beauty. She had grown into a beautiful girl of fifteen.

His youngest sister Tania hugged him, greeting him excitedly, before his mother greeted him. She said nothing, simply hugging him.

"My son... I missed you so much. Welcome home."

"It's good to see you mother. I missed you too."

They spent the next hour catching up. His mother filled him in on what had happened in Star's Reach during his absence, Seamus piping in occasionally with his own stories. Maerisa sat silently, listening politely and filling in the gaps. He knew she would rather have been out riding. Tania excitedly detailed what was happening with Mickel and the fox kits. It had been a tradition for the Fadyns to keep pet foxes, their sigil, and Mickel was the first fox he had ever caught. Trysten wolfed down food, eating hungrily. He knew this was the best meal he would get before his trip to Volantis. He told his family what had happened in the war, about his own adventures, and Iagan's. After a bit longer, when it was nearing sunset, he excused himself.

He walked to the Godswood, nodding too the two Rangers guarding the entrance as they let him pass. The Weirwood towered over him, it's leaves forming a protective canopy over him as the last of the days sunlight passed through. The carved face watched him as he took his seat on the edge of the cliff. He thought back to the last time he had sat here, next to the falls from the stream that flowed through the castle and reflecting pool, and cascading down into the sea below. The last time he was here, had been leaving for the Second Sons, praying for luck and protection. Now, he was here to see his father one last time before he left. The Fadyns had buried their dead in the Godswood beneath the Weirwood for generations. Now as the sun set, Trysten looked down at the city and bay in front of him. The sun cast a golden light over everything, and it seemed that the bustling of the city had died down, quieting as windows became illuminated by firelight and the ships made for port.

_Father, if you're there, I need you now. Robb's asked me to go to Volantis. I need your protection. I need your guidance. I have to fill your shoes now, and I'm not sure I can do it. I still have so much I need to learn. Please. I love you. Mother loves you. We all love you. How can I possibly take your place? _He prayed, silently. He was interrupted by his mother.

"I thought I'd find you here." She said, sitting next to him.

"I miss him so much." He said sadly.

"We all do. But we have to be strong now. We shall adapt." She stated plainly, repeating the Fadyn motto. "Your father wanted you to have this." She picked up a sword, handing it to him. He pulled it from its sheath, examining it.

"Dawnbringer." It was the Fadyns ancestral sword. Forged from the metal of the fallen Star that gave the city its name, it had been in their family, passed from father to son for generations. It was a simple sword, not overly ornate. A bastard sword, hand-and-a- half. _We shall adapt._ He thought to himself smiling. Even their sword was versatile. The hilt was wrapped in toughened leather, the steel dark and cold to the touch. A fox head was carved in weirwood around the pommel, with ruby eyes. On the blade were carved runes and designs of the first men. Flowers, weirwood trees, foxes, deer, and fish, all carefully carved. It was a beautiful sword.

"He carried it with him every day. He'd want you to take it with you." She said, taking the sheath and strapping it to his side as she rose. "Your mission is a dangerous one, but have faith, you will come home safe. Fadyn invicta." And with that she left, her dress trailing behind her through the grass, leaving Trysten alone with his thoughts as the sun finally set, completely, the red-gold sky turning dark as stars illuminated the night.

_Goodbye father. Fadyn Invicta._ He stood, walking out of the weirwood, Dawnbringer strapped to his side. He had to prepare for his journey, he would leave tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 4

_Authors Note_: _Guys, thanks so much for the favorites and follows, it means a lot, it's good to know people are interested in it. That being said, I would really appreciate it if you guys gave me a few reviews, whether you like it or not. I'm open to criticism, and am curious what you guys think so far. In this chapter we get a few dynamics I thought were interesting between Canon characters and OCs, so please let me know what you think. Tywin never really gets much POV, nor does Lysa and I'm curious about how you guys think I portrayed them. I tried to convey Lysa's obsessiveness and insanity, let me know what you guys think! Please! Anyways, here's chapter four. Enjoy!_

_Tywin_

He had called Ser Gregor into his chambers, fuming. The man entered, practically smashing through the door, having to duck to avoid hitting his head on the entry.

"You summoned me?" He asked gruffly? He had never been one for formalities, but he served his purpose well.

"Ah Ser Gregor, exactly the man who I wanted to see. Tell me, how precisely did you manage to lose one hundred and fifty of my knights to only eighty Star's Reach Rangers?"

"M'lord I-" he started, before Tywin interrupted him, glaring at him.

"Of whom you've only found the bodies of forty. I practically handed you those Rangers to kill. I planned the trap, I arranged the decoys, I arranged the fire, and you spring the trap at the wrong time! There are still over six hundred Rangers roaming the river lands alone. I gave you nearly four hundred men, of whom you lose one hundred and fifty, and you can hardly manage to kill eighty when you take them by surprise!" He said angrily, glaring at Clegane, who met his gaze, fury burning in his eyes.

"You gave me green boys and men who can barely swing a sword!" He shouted with rage. Tywin simply blinked, unphased by Clegane's outburst.

"I gave you some of the finest knights in the Westerlands. Far superior to that band of theives, rapists, and murderers you call a unit of soldiers. You're hardly suited to chase down a band of archers, they're right, all you can do is kill and rape defenseless smallfolk, and I'm still dealing with the mess from the last time you decided to rape someone important" He said, goading Clegane into further rage.

"I killed Beric Dondarrion!" His face turned red with rage, and he seemed to grow, towering over Tywin. He slammed his fist down on the table, cracking the thick oak and causing the pieces on the map to jump. Tywin merely laughed.

"Apparently not. The man still runs around the Riverlands killing our men and leading that ragtag group of peasants he's calling the brotherhood without banners. And you couldn't even destroy them. Tell me Clegane, why do I trust you with anything important?" He asked menacingly, his face cold and calculating. Clegane glared at him, his hand clutching his greatsword so tightly that his knuckles had turned white and the hilt had started to bend.

"Get out of my sight Clegane, and don't return until you've done something important. Maybe I should simply get your dear brother to do it instead." Tywin said, scowling. Clegane turned on his heel abruptly, replacing his massive helmet and grabbing his shield. He stormed out of the chamber, slamming the door behind him so hard the planks cracked and the door spun off its hinges. Tywin waited a moment for Clegane to depart, before rising. He stood and the window, overlooking the courtyard. Even through the thick stone walls from well above, he could hear Clegane summoning his men, shouting at them. One man ran out from the stables, tying his britches, presumably after bedding some harlot, Tywin thought. Clegane, infuriated, sliced the man in two, riding off with his men and leaving the bloody corpse in the courtyard.

_Good, Tywin thought. Maybe he could catch those damned Rangers afterall. _Tywin thought.

Speaking of harlots, Tywin remembered his youngest son, Tyrion. He had sent him to King's Landing to serve as hand in his stead. The little demon was actually doing well. He still hadn't bedded the Stark girl though. They needed an child. It would have to be rectified soon.

_Perhaps I'll give Gregor a task he can handle_. Tywin thought, a cruel smile playing across his face.

"Girl" he said, and his wine servant stepped out from the shadows. She was young, only eleven or twelve, her brown hair cut short.

"Yes my lord" she said. Tywin smiled at that. He knew the girl was lying about being a stonemason's daughter. Peasant girls said m'lord, not my lord.

_Your words betray you little one. _He thought. If only he could figure out who she was though. Obviously no one of importance, all the highborn girls were safe, but someone of noble birth. Probably some bastard daughter of some river lord, raised in his household, otherwise she wouldn't be here.

"I have a letter for you." He handed her the letter, his wax seal keeping it shut. She moved to refill his wine goblet, taking the letter. He waved his hand dismissively.

"No, no wine. It dulls the senses. I need to think." She nodded in understanding.

"I'm sure you've heard of my son, the imp?" He asked expectantly. Her eyes betrayed her, becoming ever so slightly more focused, betraying her recognition before she replaced it with the expression she normally carried.

_Ah so you do know Tyrion. How very interesting. _ He thought to himself, a thousand ideas racing through his head, trying to determine her identity.

"Yes my lord, I've heard of Lord Tyrion."

"Good, then you know exactly what wine can do. The man drinks and whores himself to an early grave, gods willing, and can't accomplish a thing. King Robert was even worse. In his time as king, he attended a grand total of three council meetings. Three. Wine is dangerous girl, remember that." She said nothing, no emotion betraying her. "Tell me more of your childhood. You said your father was a stonemason?"

"Yes my lord. He was murdered."

"Murdered? How unfortunate. By whom?" He could see tears in her eyes, but more than anything he saw rage. He saw anger and hatred, it emanated from her tiny frame.

"By a liar. He died for his honor. Killed for what he believed in."

"Honor." Tywin scoffed. "Let me tell you something of honor girl. Honor gets you killed. Honor is like wine." Her eyebrows knotted, and she looked at him with confusion.

"Honor dulls the senses. It makes you foolish, you stop thinking. Honor, nobility, justice, the lot of it, it gets you killed girl. It engulfs you, and soon you lose track of how the world works. You focus too much on doing what is right, and you forget to do what is smart, what keeps you alive. They may sing songs of honor and glory and faith, but it is your wits that keep you alive, your desire to do anything to win. Do you know why I keep Gregor Clegane around?" She shook her head.

"The man is clearly mad. The hatred and cruelty in that man could destroy a city. And yet I use him. Why?"

"I don't know my lord."

"Think girl! The man has no honor. He will do anything asked of him. The people fear him, and fear is more powerful than love. Never forget that. Fear is what keeps the seven kingdoms together. Not honor, not justice. Fear. Every lord needs a dog to do what must be done without question, to remain feared." The girl was silent for a moment, considering what he said.

"Will that be all my lord?" She asked, clearly eager to leave, clutching his letter to her chest. He sighed.

"That will be all. Go. Take that letter to the Maester." He said, waving her off.

"But honor wins you respect, and no one fears a dead man." She said quietly, defiantly even, leaving the room. The girl was smart, that much was clear. Tywin wished he had a daughter like her. Cersei was power hungry and foolish, not nearly as clever as she imagined herself to be, to busy drinking and plotting for the sheer pleasure of it. He watched her walk across the rampart, the letter clutched in her hand.

Then there was that issue to be resolved. His last courier had placed the wrong letter in the supply train. He had written a fake letter, intended to turn the young wolf against his bannermen, to sow mistrust. He had planned to ambush the entire Ranger battalion in the south. To cut them off and destroy them, only letting a few escape, with a false letter, intended for Lords Umber and Karstark, incriminating them. But the wrong letter had been sent, and if it fell into the wrong hands...

_Then I will be incriminated and lose face, the plot foiled. _He thought with dissatisfaction.

_And Lords Bolton and Frey will have some serious trouble on their hands. _

_And the world will lose two traitors. _

_But two traitors he needed. _He reminded himself.

_No. That letter must be recovered. Its contents cannot be revealed. _

_Trysten_

It was early morning. He had ridden Quicksilver down to the docks, and was overseeing the last of the provisions being loaded onto the ship. Gulls flapped overhead, as he dismounted Quicksilver who was led aboard. Cinder, his fox, sat at his feet as he watched the men load the gear.

"Hello there boy, good to see you again." Cinder yipped at him. He was one of Mickel's kits, the oldest and largest. Trysten had raised him from when he was a kit, and followed him everywhere. His glossy auburn coat shone in the sunlight.

Daven walked over to him, wearing his full armor. "M'lord, the ship is loaded. We're ready to depart."

"Alright, thank you Daven. I'll be on in a moment." Trysten said, before turning to his family.

"Seamus, take care of everyone, listen to mother, I expect you to be able to unhorse me when I return home." He said, hugging his youngest brother. "Tania, focus on your lessons, they'll help you." His younger sister kissed him goodbye, a tear running down her cheek. "Maerisa," he paused, she looked at him expectantly "try to stay out of trouble until I return" he said with a grin, and she flashed him a mischievous smile before waving farewell. His mother approached him, hugging him and kissing him on his forehead.

"Return to us soon Trysten. Remember, your father would be proud of you. Remember our words, We Shall Adapt." She said softly, wiping a tear from her face before turning him towards the gangplank. He boarded the ship, cinder following close behind. The Silversides raised the gangplank and went about their duties.

Soon, they were out into the bay. Trysten stood at the stern, watching as his home grew more and more distant. The walls of Star's Reach shrunk away, the white marble glowing in the morning light. They passed over the chain running past the Starfort, and the garrison saluted the ship as they passed before returning to their mission. Soon, they passed the other smaller vessels in the bay, each one making way for the ship. Fishermen paused to watch as they hauled up their catch, and within half an hour, the cliffs were out of sight.

He stood, the sea air and spray flying past his face, droplets of water collecting on his armor. He held Dawnbringer, examining it once more, sharpening it. He thought back to the first time his father had taught him to wield a sword.

"_This is a duty, not a pleasure" _he had told him, swinging the sword.. They did not kill for pleasure or for joy. They killed out of necessity. _"It's no easy thing to kill a man, the fox hunts out of necessity, not bloodlust." _ His father had been a hard man, one of the finest soldiers in the Vale, a fierce fighter, but he never enjoyed it. He fought because he had to.

_So why do I fight?_ Trysten asked himself, answering the thought almost instantaneously

_Too protect my friends and family. _

Gulls cawed overhead, and occasionally his Seahawk tidecaller dove into the ocean, capturing a fish. The reefs around Star's Reach passed underneath him, the warm, tropical waters rushing underneath them, a world of life and warmth in an ocean of cold, preserved only by the currents.

His father's final words echoed in his memory once more. _"Serve the true queen"_. Trysten still had been unable to determine what his father's cryptic message had meant. He watched the waves, contemplating the message.

"It never gets any easier does it?" Trysten's thoughts were interrupted by Ser Daven, who approached him. "Sorry to startle you M'Lord", he quickly apologized.

"Daven, no its no trouble" he said pensively " I was just thinking about something. And please, you trained me, you can call me Trysten."

"It never does get any easier though, does it?"

"What do you mean?"

"First time I left home, I was coming to squire for your father. Next time, I was traveling with him to fight in Robert's War. Then I left home again to follow him in the Greyjoy uprising, and then again in this war. And now we've left again. It never does get any easier, does it?"

"No. No it doesn't" Trysten sighed. "Sometimes I wish we could just stay there, keep to ourselves, mind our own damned business. Just live happily..." he trailed off, thinking of his family. "But we can't. We have our duties, our role to play." He said.

"You still miss him, don't you?" Ser Daven clapped him on the shoulder, drawing him closer. Dawnbringer rattled against his armor, suddenly feeling very out of place there.

"Every day."

"We all do" Daven looked out over the water, losing himself in some memory. He paused, before looking back to Trysten.

"Did I ever tell you what your father once said to me of you?" He asked. Trysten shook his head. "Do you remember that day we went down to the city? You were maybe five or six. We had ridden into the city to visit the blacksmith, and on the way down, you stopped near a beggar. When I saw you do it I should've grabbed you and taken you away from him, the man was filthy, certainly not the sorts a noble lad should be dealing with. And do you know what you did?" Trysten shook his head. "You sat down, right next to him, sitting on the shit and filth and dirt in the gutter. And you talked to him. The little lord, sitting in the gutter, talking to a beggar like they were best friends." Daven chuckled at the memory. "And when we leave do you know what you did? You hugged the man. Hugged him like you'd hug your father or Iagan. I don't know who was more startled, the man or your father. And your father looked at me and he says, he says 'Daven, that boy will change the world someday. He'll grow to be a better man than you or I could ever be.' I know he'd be proud of you if he saw you today." He said, smiling. Trysten felt himself tearing up, and Daven wiped one away, just as an older brother would.

"Do you know what makes a good lord, boy? What separates the good Kings from the bad?" He sighed for a moment. "Compassion. Compassion lad. And when I see you today, I see the man you've grown into from that wee little lad I trained in the yard, I can't help but think your father was right."

Three days passed without incident. They were midway through their crossing to Volantis. Trysten had taken up standing at the bow, feeling the salt spray and the ocean air against his face. He watched with delight as a pod of dolphins swam alongside the ship, riding in its wake and the wind buffeted the sails. He had just walked belowdecks when he heard the bells on the ship ringing furiously.

"Pirates! Pirates!" The men called. He could hear feet rushing over the deck above him. He strapped Dawnbringer to his side, fastening his armor before rushing above decks. On the horizon, he could see a ship approaching fast. It was much larger than theirs, and he knew the twenty Silversides on board would be no match for the hundred pirates stationed on the ship looming in the distance. It's black sails jutted out from the water, painfully obvious against the azure water. Cinder yipped at his legs as he rushed belowdecks to find the captain, running into him on the way down.

"Captain" he said breathlessly, "Pirates!" The captain pushed past him, barking orders to the crew on the deck. The ballista's were primed.

"Trysten!" Daven ran up to him. "You best be getting belowdecks Lord, this one might get ugly."

"No, I need to stay here, you'll need every man you can." He said, a look of steely determination in his eye. The pirate ship loomed closer, and he could hear the horns sounding on its decks. To his right he heard a ballista unload, sending it's bolt slamming into the hull of the pirate vessel with a resounding crack. Daven looked at him, pursing his lips for a moment, before deciding to divert his efforts to something more productive than arguing with Trysten. He ran over to help a ballista crew load, shouting over his shoulder "fine, but at least stay back a bit". More ballista's unloaded, loosing their three foot long bolts into the ships hull, a bolt tearing through the pirate's sail. The ship was large, at least three times as long as theirs, and Trysten knew there would be more than enough pirates on board to overwhelm them. The ship was close enough now that he could see the pirates, their dyed beards and sabers glistening in the sunlight.

"Boarding hooks!" A man yelled, as grappling hooks were heaved across, digging into the railing on the ship. Trysten hacked at the ropes, trying to cut them free. Silversides rushed to help him, their axes chopping, burying into the wood and slicing through the wood. Arrows whizzed past his head, embedding in the deck, and the man next to him caught a crossbow bolt straight in the chest, punching through his mail and sending him crumpling to the ground, dead, crimson spreading across the deck and making it slippery and sticky. He could see pirates, grabbing onto the rigging of their ship, preparing to jump across. The ballista twanged again, a bolt slamming into the chest of one man, sending him toppling over the side into the sea. Then, the pirates boarded. A man swung across screaming, grabbing the rope with one hand and holding an evil looking saber. Trysten's cut caught him straight in the gut, Dawnbringer slicing easily through his light garments. An axe flew through the air, nearly missing Trysten and burying itself in the cabin wall. Another pirate came at him and as he cut him down, two more appeared in his place, advancing menacingly towards him. He could tell they were losing badly, as the surviving crew members retreated, backing towards the cabin as more pirates boarded the vessel. The silversides locked their shields over one another, forming a protective wall. The pirates charged, screaming. Men groaned and screamed and fell. Dawnbringer caught one man in the face, slicing into another shoulder. The pirates were rebuffed, stepping back on the deck to regroup. Seven pirates lay dead or dying on the deck in front of the shieldwall, but two silversides had fallen too. Only seven men remained, and they were surrounded by nearly forty pirates. The captain lay dead, an axe buried in his back. Daven stood to his right, clutching his side where a saber cut had sliced him. It would be a complete slaughter. Trysten looked at the men on either side of him, each one terrified but determined. Each would die for him without a second thought. But he couldn't let them die for him. Trysten lowered his shield, the men looking at him with surprise and confusion.

"We yield." He spat at the pirates.

_Lysa _

The fox had betrayed her again. The fool boy had left, marched for the the Starks. Did he not know he was hers? Did he not know, the fox bends the knee to the falcon? The fool.

She had generously sent him a letter, requesting that he return to the Vale and swear fealty to her. Renounce his father's treason, return to the Vale. But he refused. Didn't he know he was endangering them all? For a family that took the fox as their sigil, they were more bullheaded than clever. The boy's father had defied her, calling his banners and marching west. He had always been a stubborn man, holding true to the old gods. But now, they endangered them all with their defiance. She had kept the Vale out of the war. Cat had begged her to call her banners, but didn't she realize that doing so would threaten Robert? Dear, sweet Robert? Her beloved son? Her light and joy?

No. Why should she lose a son for one of Cat's? Cat always had been contemptuous of her. She thought herself so superior, marrying some stubborn, righteous northern lord. She led her poor Petyr along, teasing him with her looks. She always thought she was so beautiful. She stole Petyr from her, made him love her, and when her betrothed nearly killed him, she laughed and rejected him. Now her son was calling himself a king, and begging her to risk her own son's head to help him.

No. Petyr told her. Stay out of the war. Protect innocent Robert, he told her. He was always so kind and compassionate. Her beloved. She had done everything he asked of her, just as a good wife should. Now Petyr was hers.

But for now, she had to protect her baby. Family, duty, honor. The Tully words. Family came first, and she had to protect her baby. The Fox needed to be punished. It threatened them all. If the limb endangers the body, cut it off. She had to protect her baby.

Star's Reach had never fallen though. The men who protected it were battle hardened and tough. They fought the hill tribes, keeping the Vale safe. The lords of the Vale would not easily turn on the fox. But they had to. Didn't they understand Robert's life was at stake? Did they not understand? How dare they threaten her baby? The Fox would bring the Lion's wrath upon them all.

Petyr will think of something. Petyr always thinks of something. He is so good to us. So kind, so loving, so loyal, so compassionate. Petyr loves us. Petyr will save us.

_Iagan_

It had been three days since Clegane's ambush. When the morning came after the first night, they had been able to take full stock of the situation. They were in bad shape. They came upon one more group of survivors, bringing their number to twenty six in all. Galtry was dead, leaving only himself in command and Crispian. Among them, they had four days worth of rations, but were at least a weeks ride south-west from the nearest Northern lines, easily two weeks on foot if you stuck to the road. Two of his men, Sigfryd and Harrel, were wounded, and could hardly move. They had to be carried on stretchers, slowing them down. Furthermore, it quickly became abundantly clear that they could not use the roads. Clegane's men continued to ride up and down, patrolling for any wayward men, and could easily cut them down in their current condition. In the ashes of the fields, they scrounged for arrows, finding a paltry nine, hardly enough to defend themselves, but possibly enough to find food. They also found the bodies of many of their friends and comrades among the ashes though.

By his count, of his eighty men, nearly fifty had been burned in the flames, and were now dead. Many of them, he knew closely as friends. He had always tried to stay close with his men, taking the time to learn each of their names and character. Among the dead and missing were men like Corlan and Allard, hard, veteran fighters, obeying each command with conviction, Gerris, who always knew how to make the men laugh, and Brynden, a quiet man who by and large kept to himself, but could sneak up on any of them with ease. All of them gone. All men who had trusted him to protect them, who put their faith in him, and his own foolishness had killed them.

"Iagan, we have a small party coming up the road. Looks to be about four men. I can't tell who they serve yet though" Crispian said, tearing through the underbrush. Iagan motioned for his men to conceal themselves, and within seconds they disappeared, completely invisible in the woods.

He could see the men approaching them. One limped badly, using his blade as a cane. Another was carrying another man, draped over his shoulders. He trudged along, and from the cover of the woods Iagan could see his bloodstained tunic. Two more padded alongside, doing their best to protect the other three.

From the opposite end of the road, Iagan heard hoofbeats.

"Clegane men sir!" Dorren reported from the treetops. Iagan's heart stopped, as he waited for them to near. The men on the road apparently hadn't heard them, and he could hear them talking urgently. Sunlight caught the clasp on one man's cloak, and in an instant, he realized who they were. The Godswood clasp was a dead giveaway, here were more of his men. He wanted to call out to the men on the road to take cover, he could hear the hoofbeats getting closer, but he knew he couldn't, or else he'd risk giving them all away.

The Clegane horsemen drew nearer, and they spurred their horses faster upon seeing the five men. The men finally saw them, but it was too late. They tried to flee. The first to be cut down was the limping man, as a Clegane lance ran him through. The other four ran, the one carrying his wounded comrade doing his best to keep up. His other two comrades slowed, doing their best to protect him as he ran. A rider ran one down, burying an axe in his chest, and another of his men tried to slash upwards at a rider. It was clear he was weak though, the man easily deflected his blow, crushing his skull with a mace, as the man's body crumpled lifelessly to the ground. The final pair kept running, the man struggling to carry his wounded friend. The horsemen ran them down easily, almost making a game out of it. One through a spear, catching the man in the leg, and he put his wounded comrade down. The man had clearly been knocked unconscious by something, and did not stir when he was placed on the ground, nor when his friend, Iagan's comrade, drew his own blade to defend him, standing above him protectively. He didn't stir when his comrade was cut down either, his attempt to protect him futile, nor when the Clegane horsemen dismounted and slit his own throat. It was all over in less than a minute.

Iagan fought back the urge to charge onto the road and confront the horsemen. To avenge his men. Ivar, one of his men, famous for his calm demeanor, placed a hand on his arm, staying him from drawing his blade.

"Not today." He hissed, and for the first time ever, Iagan saw pure fury in his eyes. "We can't avenge them if we're dead."

"They butchered them! They were wounded! And they cut them down in cold blood!" He could hear the riders laughing as they rode off.

"Wait."

They buried the men that night. As their bodies were laid to rest in the earth, the prayers of the seven chanted over them by his men, while Iagan brooded alone up in the treetops, he gazed up at the stars. Somewhere up there, his father was looking down on him. Men had died for him. They were buried in unmarked graves, their bodies burned and maimed and desecrated by fire and steel, and they would never be remembered. A lone wolf howled in the distance. As he sat in the branches, the leaves rustling in his head, he tried to recall all of the men who had died for him.

He had killed them. It was his fault they were dead. They had looked to him, and he had killed them, and now, their sacrifice would never be remembered.

_No_ He thought. He resolved that he would remember the names of every man who died for him. He would write them down, and give them a proper memory. They would be heroes. He searched his pack for a piece of paper to write the names on. There was plenty of ash, he could use the ash and charcoal to write the names. His hand, finding a piece of paper, withdrew from the pack. As he moved to write the first of the names, he felt the waxy seal under his thumb.

_Tywin's letter. _He realized. In the chaos of the ambush, he had never read it. It was addressed to Walder Frey.

_What are you doing writing to Robb's bannerman? _He wondered, as he broke the seal, doing his best to make out the words by moonlight.


	6. Chapter 5

_Authors note: Thanks to Danceegirl92 and ChairmanJeong for the reviews! It's great to see people are enjoying the story and you've given some great advice. I really appreciate it, please continue to review guys! Here's chapter five, things are really being set in motion. Also please be aware there will be some stronger language in this chapter, but i'm not quite sure if it warrants changing the rating. If you think so please PM me. Please let me know what you think of some of the original characters and my portrayal of the canon characters, it really helps! Anyways I'm introducing Maerisa in this chapter, Enjoy!_

_Trysten_

The pirates chained them up, hauling them aboard their vessel and looting the ship's supplies and cargo. They dragged Quicksilver and the other horses aboard, and although they hadn't noticed, he saw Cinder sneak aboard. The pirates stripped the bodies of their armor and weapons, and confiscated the weapons and armor of his men before scuttling the ship as they sailed away.

The pirates had chained them up to the mast, leaving them on the deck, the hot sun beating down on their heads. Trysten was parched, the pirates refusing to give his men or himself anything to eat or drink, merely laughing at their request. Daven had tried to get the pirates to confess their intentions, but they ignored him and told him to shut up, and for his efforts he received a black eye and a split lip.

One of the pirates shouted to the crew to stand at attention, and the door to the cabin opened. A tall man stepped out. He wore fine silk clothing, freshly polished black boots, a large hat with a blue plume, and a red sash of cloth around his waist, where two cutlasses were tucked. He was an ugly man, his nose had clearly been broken, and his teeth were black and yellow as he grinned at his captives with a cruel look. He walked along the line of captives, up and down the row. Each step jingled, as his gold necklaces and earrings shook and shined in the sun. His beard was dyed a deep purple, curling around his face and looped in the Braavosi style. Trysten could only assume he was the captain for the deference the crew showed him.

The leader of the boarding party approached him. "The product of this morning's raid Cap'n." He said with a smirk.

"What was in her hold?" The captain asked, raising his eyebrow expectantly.

"Five horses, some meat and fruit, and a few spices. Nothing much of value. But we did take this lot" he said, gesturing to Trysten and the silverside captives. The captain nodded.

"We can get a good price for them in Mereen. They all seem healthy enough." He said, examining them, pacing. He paused at Trysten. He grabbed his face roughly. "Let me get a good look at you boy." He twisted Trysten's head, examining him. Apparently satisfied, he released him, turning back to his crew.

"This ones not bad lookin' eh? I'm sure we can fetch a good price for him, some slaver will want this one for a bed slave!" The captain laughed, the crew along with him. The captains gold bracelets and necklaces jingled as he laughed, a deep hearty laugh, but a cruel one. He turned back to Trysten, leaning in close.

"What do you say boy? Would you like that?" his face was inches away, his breath rank of fish, causing Trysten's eyes to water with the smell, and Trysten could see bits of food tangled in the beard. Trysten spat right in his eye. The crew's laughter died on their lips, and the captains face turned bright red as he wiped the spit from his face. He looked at Trysten for a moment, before slapping him viciously with the back of his hand. His rings stung Trysten's face, leaving red marks and a gash on his cheek which leaked blood. The captain glared at him for a moment, his black eyes meeting Trysten's defiant stare.

"Vindonio," he called "string this one up to the mast. No food, no water, nothing until we get to Mereen. This one needs to learn some respect."

The first mate, the man who led the boarding party, grabbed him roughly, shoving him towards the main mast. He tied Trysten's wrists and ankles, lashing him firmly to mast, grinding his face into the wood.

"That was unwise" Vindonio chuckled. "The cap'n don't take kindly to disrespect." Trysten said nothing.

He could hear boots moving across the deck. The captain was heading back to his cabin.

"Cap'n, what about the rest?" The man called Vindonio asked.

"Leave 'em in the sun. The slavers don't care what shape they get 'em, so longs as they get 'em." He could hear the captain pause for a moment, and Vindonio audibly inhaled.

"Mister Vindonio, where'd ya come across a blade such as that?" The captain asked, and Trysten could see the man shuffle nervously.

"I took it from one of the captives. The one thats strung up."

"Fine blade that is. Think i'll be having it" the pirate said, and the first mate hung his head.

"But cap'n I lead the boarders. I fought for it. I thought i'd keep it."

"Blast man do you want to be joining our pretty little friend over there? Hand it over!" Vindonio gave it to the captain. He could hear the sound of steel on leather as the sword was drawn from it's scabbard. The captain whistled.

"Fine blade lad. Where'd you come across a blade like this? Valyrian steel."

"It's mine. My father gave it to me." He said, and the captain laughed.

"Not anymore it isn't. You some sort of highborn?" The captain asked, not taking his eyes from Dawnbringer's blade.

"I'm Trysten Fadyn, Lord of Star's Reach".

"Oh we got us a little lord here boys! Some slaver will pay double for him! A little lord to warm his bed!" The crew laughed. "Well boy, let me tell ya somethin'. If ya can't protect what's yours, somebodies gonna' take it from ya." The captain laughed, smacking his back with the flat of the blade, before walking back to his cabin laughing, slamming the door shut.

A day had passed. The captain had him stripped of his undershirt, so his back was badly sunburned, red and raw. After the first day, the captain had approached him, asking him if he was ready to apologize. Trysten, defiantly, had responded telling him that "he could go fuck himself with his new sword" and that "he wouldn't apologize to any bastard pirate scum". Ser Daven had groaned at that. For his insolence, Trysten was rewarded with thirty lashes. The captain had whipped him until he was raw, his back torn to shreds. With each strike of the whip more skin was torn from his back. Trysten worked to fight off a scream, making no sound, and biting back the pain. The crew laughed and mocked him, and he could see the Silverside's averting their eyes. Eventually he resorted to biting the mast to keep quiet, leaving an indentation in the hard wood. The captain left for the day.

The next day, the captain left his cabin again. "Are ya ready to apologize now boy?" The blood had tried, and his back had begun to scab over. Trysten said nothing, ignoring the captain. More lashes. More pain, but Trysten made no sound as the flesh was torn from his back, the whip biting into his skin. The captain forced the entire crew to watch. This time though, the crew was silent. He could feel each of them wincing as the whip tore into him. A storm passed through that night. Wind whipped at the ship, and while the crew bunkered down and took the rest of the captives below decks, Trysten was kept tied to the mast. Waves buffeted him, and the salt water stung his back. Eventually, the storm passed, after continuing late into the night. Trysten slept.

He woke to the sound of the crew working. His ankles and wrists had chafed terribly, bloody messes from the tight ropes that held him to the mast. His britches were stiff and uncomfortable, the sun drying them, leaving the salt, keeping them coarse and stiff. On his back, he could feel the dried blood and sunburn, the gashes from the whip, made worse by the salt which had dried onto his back, caking his body.

At midday, the captain approached him again. "I'm gettin' real tired of whipping ya boy. What say you apologize, and I'll let you down. You must be real thirsty. Just apologize, and I'll cut ya down."

"Damn it Trysten apologize! Don't do this to yourself!" Daven shouted to him, and the rest of the Silversides echoed him. He could hear the pain in Daven's voice. The Captain pivoted, screaming at them to shut up. "Well boy, what do ya say?"

He paused for a moment, considering the offer. His lips were dry and cracked and his throat was parched. His stomach ached from hunger. The captain leaned in, closer. He was silent.

"Well, he's made his choice. Vindonio, the whip." His first mate hesitated for a moment. The crew was silent as he walked across the deck, grabbing the whip and handing it to the captain.

He would've screamed if he thought he could make any sound, but his throat was to parched to do even that. The pain was excruciating. He could feel blood splattering with each crack of the whip. The crew was absolutely silent, watching with horror and fascination as the boy of only seventeen took lash after lash, being whipped to a bloody pulp, in complete silence. Eventually, Trysten lost count of the lashes, and passed out from the pain, his limp body rocking with the movement of the ship.

He awoke late at night. It was pitch dark, the only light coming from the stars above him. He could hear the waves breaking against the bow, but the deck was empty. The Daven and his men slept.

He felt a hand clamp over his mouth, and he moved to cry out. "Shut up, I'm here to help. You've got to keep quiet though or the Cap'n will hear." Trysten stopped struggling, and the man slowly drew his hand away.

"Here, drink this." A man said, his voice gruff and muffled, holding a cup to his lips. It smelled foul, but Trysten gulped it down. It was his first drink in days. The cool liquid passed over his lips, and Trysten did his best to catch every last drop of the drink that was poured out of the cup to him.

"It should help with the fever."

"How long was I out?" He croaked, his voice cracked and dry. The man held another cup to his lips, and Trysten drank it quickly as the man spoke.

"Nearly a day. You've got spirit lad." The man said. "This might sting a bit" he warned "but it'll help your back". Trysten nodded. He was right. The man smeared some sort of ointment on his back, which stung fiercely. Trysten did his best not to cry out. Eventually though, the pain subsided, and he felt a cool feeling spread across his back.

"Thank you. Who are you?" He whispered, trying to get a look at his savior.

"The less you know, the better." The man replied. "You've got spirit kid, but sooner or later, everybody breaks. Don't make this harder on yourself than it has to be."

"Why are you doing this?"

"We like ya kid, you've got guts. Dumb as a rock, but you've got guts. Besides, you're not the only one that bastard has wronged." He left. Trysten did his best to get a look at him, but he entered the cabin. He only got a quick glimpse of the man's silhouette as he walked away, but by the starlight, it wasn't enough to determine who it was.

Days passed, and each day the captain would whip him again. Throught the whipping though, Trysten's back had improved from its prior state. The man made two more visits, each time helping him, giving him water and cleaning his back. The captain was enraged at Trysten's defiance, whipping him more and more, but Trysten stayed strong. Each night his back healed a bit from the prior days, and he knew soon it would be over. They had to be close to slaver's bay.

After nine days, Trysten could finally see the great Pyramid of Mereen. The harpy rose above the city, looking over it like a great demon, watching as her servants scuttled beneath her. He could hear the slavers and pirates yelling to one another, and soon, the ship docked at port.

_Iagan_

He had to get a message to Robb. Tywin's letter had confirmed his worst fears. He was planning a massacre. Walder Frey hadn't taken Robb's betrayal lightly, and with the help of Roose Bolton, they were going to massacre Robb and his bannermen at a wedding. It was a horrifying thought. He had trouble believing it. Not even Walder Frey could be so prideful that he would violate guest right and murder his guest in cold blood and risk the wrath of the old gods and the new, just because of a simple slight. But the evidence was staring Iagan in the face. He held it in his hands. Robb and his men were walking into a trap.

Robb needed to be warned, but how? His men were in serious trouble, vastly outnumbered and outmatched. Their training was good, but they were low on arrows and supplies and had wounded with them. Tywin had tightened his chokehold on them, flooding the surrounding area with men. Clegane patrols were everywhere, and each day they had to hide to avoid being discovered. Tywin must've known they had the letter, otherwise he wouldn't be so actively hunting them. Today had confirmed his worst suspicions.

They had been walking north, trying to reach the Northern lines or a sympathetic Riverlord who would let them get a raven through to Robb, when they had heard hoofbeats. Another Clegane patrol, this time nearly fifty men, all armored knights. To try to fight them would be suicide. He had crept closer, doing his best to listen in on their conversation. The horsemen had ridden by, pausing on the road to examine their surroundings.

"What are we searching for?" One man asked.

"The damned Rangers. Tywin's put a price on their heads. A hundred dragons per head."

"A hundred dragons?" The other man asked, a look of shock on his face. "What'd those poor bastards do to earn that?"

"Who cares? We just have to kill a few. Besides, if we don't Clegane will have our fuckin heads. He thinks they're trying to go north to reconnect. We've gotta stop them from getting back. They're as good as dead."

"Yeah" a man laughed, "Clegane must have four thousand men between here and the front".

So heading North was out of the picture. Even with their stealth, there was no way that they could make it past four thousand men without being caught, if the scouts were to be believed. They had to find another way. West was out, the last thing they needed was to go farther into hostile territory, and to go east meant cutting past Harrenhall and through the bloody gate back to Star's Reach. That was way to far off. The wedding was coming up, and they had to warn Robb in time, to go east would take to long.

Iagan called his men to him. Normally he would've simply held a council with his officers, but since Crispian was the only officer among them and there were only twenty six of them, there was no reason they shouldn't be heard. Night was falling as they gathered in the woods.

"I've told you all what was in that letter. If we don't warn him, the war will be lost." Iagan explained.

"So then we need to go North. We can get by them! They haven't found us yet" one man told him. Crispian interjected.

"There are almost four thousand Lannisters between here and there, and they're combing the countryside looking for us. There's no way we could sneak by. Besides, it would take to long."

"We could commandeer some horses, then ride. Maybe we could outrun them?" Another asked. This time Iagan responded.

"We have almost no arrows. I've yet to see a Lannister patrol with less that fifty men. We couldn't shoot them all down, and if one escapes Clegane will be on our heels in no time. They've got us outnumbered."

"What about South?" Ivar interjected. He had been sitting back, listening to the debate. "We can't head North, nor West, and East will take to long. It seems to me our only option then is South."

South. It was a dangerous idea. It would still be a long march, and they'd be heading deeper into the Lannister domain, past the Crownlands.

"House Tyrell holds the South. They're neutral" Dorren stated plainly.

"Aye but those flowery bastards want their bitch-daughter to marry Joffrey. They'd give the Lannisters us as a wedding present" one man warned.

"If we don't we're dead anyway! We should-" Another argued.

"They'll hang us all" Micah shouted, interrupting him. The debate turned into a full fledged argument, men shouting their opinions and trying to be heard.

"They haven't declared a side, or sent troops!"

"ENOUGH" Iagan shouted, silencing them all. "We'll be lucky if the Clegane bastards didn't hear that racket." He considered the idea. To go South was dangerous, but he had family in Highgarden. His uncle Scipio's wife and children resided in the reach. They hadn't been turned over to the Lannisters yet, and the Tyrells, although they had raised their bannermen, hadn't participated in any conflict yet. Perhaps he could sneak in and give his cousin a letter to send to Robb. It was dangerous though.

"To go South will be dangerous. But it's our only viable option. We need to warn Robb. We head south". There were some grumblings, but the men accepted his decision. He determined sentries, and they bedded down for the night.

The next day passed without incident, but as they set up camp on the second day, after marching south, they heard hoofbeats. It was another Clegane patrol. Iagan and Crispian ordered the men to stay hidden and move back, while they moved forward to scout.

"Captain, they're setting up camp" Crispian noted, watching as the men dismounted and began setting up tents. "They're bedding down for the night. That's just our bad luck. Only a few paces from us. We should keep moving." Iagan observed them. They were lazy, tethering their horses and eating and laughing and drinking as the last of the day's light faded away. They lit fires. From the trees Iagan could hear them complaining about how they had drawn the worst lot.

"How'd we get stuck with this? We could be in Harrenhall right now with a whore on our lap, a soft bed, and a horn of ale" one man grieved, before another of his companions told him to shut up.

"There ain't gonna be no damned rangers this far south!" another exclaimed.

"What does Clegane want us doing down here anyway? The bastards will head north."

Iagan thanked the gods he could approach unseen. The patrol didn't even expect to see them here. If they were lucky, they could pass through here unnoticed and then be free. Clegane would never think to send his men farther south.

"We could ambush them." Iagan jumped.

"Dammit Dorren don't do that! Nearly scared me to death."

"Sorry sir. Just a suggestion though. We could take the horses."

"Not a bad idea Dorren. Not a bad idea at all. Kill the sentries, kill the rest while they sleep and take the horses. They're too drunk and lazy to set up proper guards."

"They might have arrows too" Crispian observed. Iagan weighed his options for a moment.

"Get some rest boys. It's gonna be a long night."

It was nearly midnight. Most of the men were fast asleep, they had only posted a meager three sentries, who were so drunk Iagan wasn't sure they could even see straight. The last of the embers died down around their fires, and the horses were tethered to trees in the center of camp. Iagan had set his men up in a perimeter around the camp, waiting until it was completely dark to strike. At his signal, three men loosed arrows, killing the sentries, who dropped to the ground with a quiet thud. He gave the order to move in. His blade glinted in the moonlight as he padded through the grass, silently. His cloak concealed him. He was a shadow, a specter, unseen and silent. He passed the dead sentries, ordering his men to double check they were dispatched. Meanwhile, he padded past the dying firelight, which silhouetted him against the darkness and through the tents, making his way to the first one. He quietly lifted the flap, and entered the tent, carefully avoiding the equipment strewn on the ground. More of his men padded in behind him, also entering the other tents. In moments, the first tent cleared, his blade along with his mens' swiftly dispatching the sleeping soldiers. As he was exiting the tent, he heard a clatter of armor and a man swearing loudly, before shouting in alarm.

_Damn. This one couldn't be easy could it._ The camp had awoken, and men rushed frantically about. He and his men rushed into the next tent, cutting down the soldiers as they tried to find their weapons and armor in the dark. They moved from tent to tent, dispatching the soldiers as they struggled to mount a defense and orient themselves in the dark. As they cleared the last tent, Iagan heard a shout from his left.

"Iagan, one's getting away!" Crispian shouted.

"Take him down!" He yelled to his men as the soldier mounted his horse, spurring him into the woods. He drew his own bow, taking his only arrow. He took aim struggling to distinguish the rider from the woods. _Its the damned fire, _he thought, _ruining my night sight. _He loosed, and the arrow went hurtling towards the rider. Iagan heard a thud as the arrow smacked into a tree, and rustling and more thuds as his men tried to shoot the man down themselves, but he was already gone.

"Fuck!" Iagan exlaimed, kicking a helmet in frustration and sending it spinning off into the darkness. His men watched him, waiting for his orders.

"Take anything of value, arrows, bandages, weapons if you need them, then take a horse and mount up. We need to move, only a matter of time before we have the whole fucking Lannister army bearing down on us."

_Maerisa_

The raven had arrived early that morning. As the saying went "dark wings, dark words". It was from her Uncle Scipio, who was serving with Robb Stark. She had been out riding when it arrived. Iagan and his company had gone missing. The Rangers sent to find them had turned up nothing but burned corpses, unidentifiable. He was presumed dead.

She and Iagan had never been particularly close, even after their father had legitimized him, much to her mother's chagrin. But he was a good man. He had saved the Godswood, and would've made a great Ranger captain, maybe even a Lord Commander given time. But it was not to be. Her mother was distraught over Iagan's death. Although she had not birthed him, she had raised him as her son. She may not have loved him the same as her trueborn children, but she did love him, and another death was more than she could bear. She spent the day locked inside her chambers.

Seamus had taken it the hardest. He had always admired Iagan. He had gone off to the Godswood by himself. He was young, to young to lose his father and brother. She considered going after him, but decided he needed time alone.

As for her, she tried to preoccupy herself grooming her horse, Thunder. Thunder was a storm gray color, his coat thick and soft. Her father had given him to her when she was only eight. Now, she had just reached her sixteenth nameday, and she was a capable rider. Thunder preoccupied her. He had recently sired a new pony, which she named Mariner. Between caring for Thunder and raising Mariner, she had her hands full, and when she was upset, she would devote herself to them. But today, her heart wasn't in it. She had lost her father, and now her brother. Iagan would be sorely missed.

That was not the only news that had come with the Raven. Scipio requested Maerisa to come to the camp. She was nearly sixteen, and a favorable match would need to be made. Although nothing would be done yet, it was time to start considering her options for a husband.

Many men would be lucky to have her, she was told. She was undeniably beautiful, and the Rangers and Silversides affectionately referred to her as their "Mountain Rose". She had long blonde curls, her eyes a stormy grey, and an attractive face. She would be the thrill of the young men at court, and it was time to start considering suitors. In her brother's absence, her Uncle had taken it upon himself to start the search, and a wedding would be a perfect time to begin. He requested she ride north to meet them, and attend the wedding of Edmure Tully and Rosalin Frey at the twins.

She would have to leave home. Unlike her cousins in Highgarden, Scipio's children, she had never grown up with any other noble girls or boys besides her siblings. Star's Reach's isolation made it ideal for defense, but a true curse for friends. She had been visited by the Waynwoods, Redforts, and Hunters, but rarely and she never had much time for friends.

She was also somewhat odd among those who lived in the Vale for her association with the hill tribes. As a little girl, she had been out riding when she had been kidnapped by a tribesmen and taken to their camp. However, she had quickly won them over with her upbeat and friendly personality, and they regarded her as a friend ever since, after releasing her. She still talked to the hill tribes from time to time, and as of late they had ceased their raids on Star's Reach, coming to an uneasy truce.

It was for that reason that when she went out riding today to clear her head, she did so without a guard. She had nothing to fear. She and Thunder road far from the castle, up into the hills overlooking the valley. Seamus and Trysten had the Godswood, her mother had her chambers, Tania had the orchard, and she had the cliff. She would ride out here whenever she needed to think.

"What are we going to do?" She asked Thunder, an arrow from her bow slamming into the tree she targeted, knocking down the apple. "I can't get married yet. What if I don't love him?" Thunder snorted, she could've sworn he was laughing at her. She tossed the apple at him, it bouncing off his side. He stared at her for a moment before crunching into it.

"I'm serious! I don't want to marry some sour northern lord! I'm happy here!" Thunder looked up from his apple for a moment, seeming to raise his eyebrow. "Ok, well I'm happier here! What if he's just some boring old man, or a cruel boy?" Thunder shook his head.

"Oh and who would you suggest? I don't know the politics of these lords, or of their families and alliances." Thunder said nothing. Only the silence of the woods surrounded them. She could hear birds flitting through the trees and the sound of a small stream trickling off the cliff into the valley.

"Fine." She pouted. "But I don't have to like it!" Thunder brayed, stomping his hooves.


	7. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: Hey guys, sorry for the delay in the update, I hit a bit of a wall for a few days, but I'm glad to see everyone is still enjoying it. In thi_s _chapter we'll be meeting a few more characters, including some canon ones so as always, please review and let me know what you think, especially on my portrayal of the characters. It would be a huge help to let me know what you think of the OC characters as well, so I know what needs to be improved on. Anyways, enjoy!_

_Iagan_

It had been three days of hard riding, but they were finally nearing the Mander. They couldn't have been more than half a day away, and once they crossed the river they were home free, or at least, at the Tyrell's mercy instead of the Lannisters. They were running short of time. The wedding was only days away, and if he didn't warn Robb in time, it would all be for nought. He breathed a sigh of relief though. He had managed to bring his men out of the trap that had been sent for them, and although they lost many good men, some would make it out.

His horse bucked underneath him, apparently startled by something. "Captain! Riders!" Crispian shouted.

"Lannister bastards coming over the hill!" Another man yelled.

_Shit. _He thought. _It was too good. It can never be easy, can it? I just had to relax. _He wondered to the gods. He spurred his horse into a gallop, his men riding hard behind them to outpace the Lannister soldiers. He stole a glance over his shoulder. There were nearly one hundred Lannister knights bearing down on them, riding over the crest of the hill. There was no way they could handle all of them. The Mander was getting closer though. He could see it's glistening waters drifting lazily among the reeds and rushes. The Lannisters were getting closer now. Their hoofbeats rose to become a thunderous roar in his ears, and the dust his men's horses kicked up was blinding. He unslung his bow from his back, firing his last two arrows into the Lannister host, downing two riders and tripping a few others up, but it was hardly enough to make a dent. The Lannister riders were closing. After three hard days of riding, their own horses were exhausted, and the Lannister's must have been fresh.

There was no way they could outrun them. They were closing too fast. Their only hope was that they could fight them off. Iagan rapidly scanned the area for anywhere they could defend, but there was nothing. No grove of trees to conceal themselves in, no bridge to cross, just a tiny island in the Mander, no more than a few horses long or wide. The water was shallow, their horses could cross it easily, but it would have to serve.

"To the bank!" He called, slinging his bow over his shoulder and drawing his longsword. His feet dug into his horse's side, banking towards the island with all possible speed. "Take up defensive positions! We have to hold them! We have to hold them! Form a defensive line!" He waved his men around behind him as they reached the island, water splashing up at his face as hooves splashed through the stream. He could hear the scrape of steel on leather as his men drew their own weapons. A few more arrows were loosed, hurtling into the Clegane horsemen. He could only hope they found their mark. The horsemen were no more than a hundred paces away and closing fast. He could hear their war whoops and battle cries as they charged in, axes and swords slashing through the air. A few were unhorsed as their horses stumbled and tripped on the slick stones in the river, blocking the stream, and forcing the rest to dismount or risk tripping over the struggling horses. Both sides stared at one another for a moment, before the Clegane men at arms rushed in, screaming like madmen.

At first, the fight went their way. They were far better trained than these thieves, rapers, and murderers, and were more than a match for them in a fair fight. A man ran towards Iagan, his battleaxe glinting in the midday light. He slashed wildly, and Iagan ducked under the blow, gutting him with his longsword. Another man sliced at him with his sword, but Iagan easily parried the blow, and counterattacked, sending the man sprawling backwards into his comrades, where Iagan quickly finished him off, before turning on his comrades.

But this was not a fair fight. Soon, the fight began to turn against them. Iagan stabbed, catching a man in the throat above his armor, and the man fell, clutching at the wound and gurgling blood. But a spear caught in the back of the leg, slicing across the back of his thigh, the wound stinging. He quickly dispatched the offender, and staggered back to the safety of his own men, fighting desperately to hold the Clegane men back. But it was to no avail. One by one his men were separated and picked off, and for every man they killed three more took his place, as his line was driven back. He saw Dorren cut down three knights, dispatching them all with quick, lethal blows to the throat with his twin daggers, before an axe split his back, and he was dispatched with a spear thrust. He saw another man slip on the bloodstained sand, and as he pleaded for mercy, was silenced by a mace to the head. From the Clegane lines, he saw a huge man striding forward, the Clegane dogs painted on his armor. He held a massive broadsword so large many men couldn't even lift it, let alone wield it, in one hand, and a gargantuan oak shield in the other, emblazoned with the Clegane colors. He strode forward, as blows glanced off his armor. His sword cut through his men easily. One man was nearly split in two as the sword carved into him. Iagan rushed back into the fray, his sword singing, slick with blood. His hamstring stung, blood sticking to his britches and running down his leg. He fought his way towards the massive man, Gregor Clegane, intending to fight him, cutting down seven Lannister soldiers before reaching him. Clegane buried his sword deep in another man's belly, twisting and wrenching it out with a grotesque sucking noise, and the man collapsed to the ground. Iagan struck, his sword glancing off the massive man's armor, barely leaving a dent. The man turned towards him. He brought his broadsword down, and Iagan barely managed to stop the blow from cleaving him in two, as he deflected the slash to the side off his own sword, struggling to stay on his feet as the force of the blow forced him to his knees. He was so focused on the sword, he didn't see the massive shield coming around.

It hit him in the side of the face. His vision blurred as he was knocked to the ground. He could feel the damp sand on his cheek, and he nearly blacked out. But he forced himself to retain consciousness. He rolled over, reaching desperately for his sword to block the oncoming blow, a hack that would have split him in two, but his hand found nothing. The blade whistled toward him, crimson blood already coating the steel. He could feel the drops of blood splatter on his face. He waited for the end to come.

But it didn't. The blade stopped mere inches from his body. He struggled to focus on what happened. Another blade had blocked the cut. Crispian. His men forced Gregor back, three of them fighting him at once, as two more dragged him back behind their makeshift battle line by the straps of his armor.. There weren't more than ten men left.

"Captain! Captain! IAGAN!" Crispian shouted at him, struggling to be heard over the din of battle. Steel rang against steel, intermingled with the cries of the wounded and war cries of the fighting. The metallic smell of armor and steel intermingled with the sickly sweet smell of death and smell of blood. "You need to get up! You need to escape!" His vision blurred as he struggled to make sense of Crispian's words. Crispian's face blurred, making him dizzy. He tried to stand, but couldn't. "We'll hold them off! Go!" He couldn't move. His arms and legs had seemed to stop functioning. His head lilted off to the side, and he saw Clegane cut down two more of his men, two men who had fought him to protect him, but he was powerless to stop him.

His hearing faded. He could see Crispian shouting, mouthing words at him. He saw him call to another man, as they lifted him, throwing him onto the saddle of a horse. Crispian shouted at him. He tried to focus.

"It's been an honor...serving...Captain" Crispian said, slapping the horse on the rear and nodding too him, a sad look in his eye. The horse sprung into a gallop, fleeing the fighting. His vision began to fade again, he could feel blood running down his leg, soaking his britches. The horse ran, and he slumped across its neck. He struggled to wrench the horse back to the fighting. He had to protect his men, had to save his men... His vision was fading, the world growing dark around him. He felt the jarring sensation of hooves running across stone and felt cool water on his face. The horse turned, running up the road and hill, and through the woods, and he got a last glimpse of the fighting. He saw his men butchered. He saw Crispian dive into the fray one more time, cutting down another two men, before a spear caught him in the back and he fell, Clegane's massive sword thrust through his body. He saw him fall. He saw the stream run red with blood. Then, his vision faded, and he lost consciousness.

_Trysten_

They had arrived at Mereen three days ago. They had been dragged off the ship, his back cracked and bleeding from the whipping, but healing nonetheless. He, Ser Daven, and the rest of his men were being kept in a sort of pen, chained to the wall, out in the sun, while the pirates tried to entice buyers. The great pyramid loomed over them, foreboding and menacing, and worse, they couldn't seem to escape the gaze of that damned harpy. She sat, looking down on them with pitiless eyes. The putrid stink of the slave pens rose from the docks.

So far, the captain had failed to attract any willing buyers. The first man he had brought had come to examine them like horses, checking their teeth and health. When he got to Trysten, he had spit on his shoes, and the master nearly slit his throat before the captain stopped him, apologizing for his insolence and warning him he would have to pay for the slave if he killed him.

They had sat in the hot sun for two more days, the acrid desert air scorching their lungs and the dust and sand blistering their faces. On the third day however, they were ushered from their pens. Slave soldiers dragged them from their sitting positions, prodding them forward with spear butts and the occasional blow. They were brought before the captain and the first mate, as well as a man dressed in silks.

_That would be our new Master_. Trysten thought bitterly. He examined the man, assessing him, looking for any possible way to escape or turn the situation to his advantage. He was tall for a slaver, standing nearly a head taller than the captain. His rich silks and finery cascaded around him in a dazzling array of golds, purples, blues, and reds. He was wealthy. His hands showed no callouses, and two slaves stood behind him, one holding a parasol to keep the sun off him, another fanning him._ Lazy too_. He thought. _A pampered bastard. Should be easy enough to escape._ The man was not old, but not young either, probably about his father's age.

_Father._ Trysten thought. _What would he think if he saw me now? A slave._ The master said a few words to the captain in a language Trysten didn't understand, but he recognized it as a dialect of Low-Valyrian or Ghiscari. The captain responded in kind, coins were exchanged, and the deal was done. In moments, the first mate approached each of them, unshackling them, and attaching collars to each of them. He worked his way down the line, eventually reaching him.

He unshackled his wrists. Trysten rubbed them, they were raw and sore from the chains, and he had a very obvious tan line, the skin underneath the shackles, though red and raw, was notably lighter than the skin that had been exposed to the harsh elements on the voyage. The first mate Vindonio turned the key in his ankle bracers, and he could finally move his legs. He considered running a moment, before banishing the thought from his mind. He couldn't leave his men behind to their fate. _Besides_, he thought_ I wouldn't make it twenty paces before they caught me, assuming they didn't simply shoot me down first._ He dismissed the thought. No, he would have to get in this new master's good graces if he was ever to escape. The first mate attached a collar around his neck. Trysten winced as the cold iron touched his tender back. The first mate leaned closer, clasping the collar on and securing it firmly in the back.

"You've got spirit kid, but sooner or later, everybody breaks. Don't make this harder on yourself than it has to be." Vindonio whispered to him. Trysten gave him a small nod, acknowledging him.

"Thank you. For 're a good man." He whispered under his breath, trying not to draw attention to himself or the first mate. He tried to keep his face level, to show no emotion. This man, who was currently selling him into a life of slavery, had been his savior, perhaps even saved his life. "I shall pay you back one day" Trysten told him.

Before he knew it, the ship, the pirates, the captain, and Vidonio, were gone. He and the other slaves were forced into a small caged cart, which was hauled up, past the docks and behind the city walls. The gates parted before them, as they passed under the arches. The city's stink was overpowering, but it was somehow beautiful. The sandstone buildings crowded the street on either side, and people dressed in fine, exotic clothing walked up and down the alleyways and streets, going about their business. He saw Masters, slaves in tow, pampering them, walking to and from their villas, artisans and craftsmen calling out their wares and offering them to anyone within earshot, children running across the sandstone streets, kicking up dust and darting in between the legs of the oxen and horses, weaving through the crowd. He smiled as he remembered his own home.

"We'll get home one day lord" Daven said to him confidently.

"I hope you're right Daven, I sincerely do." He replied. Another man spoke up.

"I know you'll think of something Lord. You got us out alive from that mess with the pirates."

"I'm not your lord anymore," he answered, _and perhaps dying free is worth more than a life enslaved,_ he thought darkly, "and now we're all just slaves together. No need for the formalities. What's your name man?" He felt guilty. He had doomed these men to lives of slavery and hard labor, and he hardly knew any of them.

"Alexander, first marine of the fourth naval brigade, Silversides" he told him.

"Alexander" Trysten repeated, committing the name to memory. "Well, if we're going to be working together we might as well get to know each other. Your name sailor?" He asked, looking at another Silverside.

"Andray, Marine, 4th naval Brigade, Silversides" the man told him. They spent the rest of the wagon ride quietly swapping names and becoming familiar. Trysten rapidly became acquainted with the other men he was captured with. There were nine of them, including Daven and himself. They each introduced themselves; Alexander, the highest ranking man among the Silversides with them, Andray, a young man no older than himself from Pinnella Pass, his older brother Brandon, Brom, a quiet man, the oldest in the unit at nearly forty name days, Domeric, an orphan from Star's reach who had just joined the Silversides, Alexander's squire Duncan, and Raymond, a loud, boisterous man who claimed he beat Balon Greyjoy in the finger dance, much to all their enjoyment.

The wagon stopped near midday. One of the slave soldiers unlocked the cart door, and they were brought out to the central grounds of what appeared to be their new Master's Villa. Trysten squinted at the bright light. They stood on the cobbled common ground, the large, marbled building looming up in front of them. In the center of the grounds stood a whipping post, and behind it a white marble fountain which trickled water down. Trysten became suddenly aware of how horribly thirsty he was.

"Best you avoid that one" Daven whispered to him, gesturing to the whipping post, earning him a cuff on the ear from one of the guards. Trysten could hear the clatter of hoofbeats on stone, and the Master rode in, pausing before them on his horse, and dismounting as two slaves took the mare away. He could hardly believe his eyes. The master was riding his own horse, Quicksilver. At his hip hung Dawnbringer. Trysten's eyes blazed with fury, but Alexander grabbed his wrist, squeezing tightly. "Don't do anything foolish Trysten" he told him quietly. Trysten did his best to relax, his fury subsiding as the man approached them. Trysten completely ignored him, his eyes tracking the slaves who led Quicksilver out of the courtyard. _It can't hurt to know where they keep the horses_, _especially Quicksilver, _he thought.

"I am Abdus Salam Afzal," the man said, seeming to enjoy the way his own name sounded, relishing his own majesty. Trysten scoffed under his breath. "I'm sure you have heard of me. It was I who vanquished the Dothraki horde who attacked Mereen, my wealth and power are beyond compare." He paused again, letting his words sink in. Clearly he was used to people gawking and groveling before him. "You shall find me a generous Master. I shall provide each of you with a bed, food, and proper attire, and in return you shall cater to me. Please me, and you shall be rewarded, but disobey me..." He trailed off menacingly, his right hand grasping Dawnbringer's hilt and his left trailing towards the gilded Arakh he wore at his hip. He looked towards the whipping post. The message was clear. Obey or be punished.

"You" he said, approaching Trysten. "Captain Izzat has told me of you. He said you have spirit. Perhaps a new fighter for the pits?" Trysten said nothing.

"I would feed you well, you would have women, food, drink, wealth, anything you desire" he told him, waiting for a response. Trysten remained silent.

"Fool." Afzal muttered under his breath. "So be it. You shall serve me as a scribe and cupbearer."

Trysten was taken away from his men. As he was led through the Villa, he marveled at the beauty of the slaver's home. It had high, arching ceilings, adorned with gilded tiles depicting beautiful, far off places. The smell of lemons drifted through the halls, and sunlight illuminated the long corridors, passing between the columns. The guards hauled him forward, ripping off his shoddy garments. Trysten gasped in agony as his old, rough cotton garments were torn off, bringing with them the dried blood and scabs that had clung to them and had become tangled in the cloth. He tried not to faint as a wave a pain washed over him, and he could feel blood begin to well up in the gashes. The poultice had helped heal the worst of his injuries, but he knew he was a long way from a full recovery.

"Put these on" one guard said to him, tossing him a pile of clothing. It was soft and cool to the touch. Silk. Apparently the ever so generous Master Afzal wanted his slaves to look just as extravagant as he was.

"And you best bandage that back. The Master won't want you bleeding through your new clothes." The guard said. "This here's your bed. You will rise every morning at first light, and sleep when the Master wills it." Trysten examined his new quarters. They were sparse to say the least, and as he examined the straw cot he couldn't help but feel nostalgic for his chamber in Star's Reach. He could see the flees hopping on the rough linen sheet, and rat droppings littered the floor of the dimly lit room, the only warmth coming from torches on the walls which only partially heated the cold stale air.

"You two are slaves too?" He asked them. He could see the collar on their necks, but was surprised they dared to give their slaves weapons.

"I've served him for nearly a decade" the older guard said.

"And I only a year" the other added.

"Yet he gave you two weapons." Trysten noted. The older one turned to him "that'll be all Zetes, go find the Master, I'm sure he has need of us." The man waited for his partner to leave. "You're new here. I saw those scars on your back. Believe me, compared to Afzal, those pirates were merciful. To defy him means death. To even insinuate revolt is dangerous. The master has spies everywhere, feeding him details."

"How would you know that?" Trysten asked. He wanted to know every detail about this Master. If he was ever to escape, he needed to have all the facts, and he needed to know who he could trust.

"I learned it firsthand. He's cruel, brutal. Don't provoke his wrath." The man said, removing his helmet. Trysten did his best to stifle a gasp. Hidden behind the face mask of the helmet, a huge, jagged scar ran across the man's face. "Bastard gave me this when I asked for a bit more bread, to give to my daughter." The man said angrily. "Told me I was lucky he gave me anything for her, since he hadn't given me permission to 'breed'". The guard told him bitterly.

"You have a daughter?"

"Had. He sold her two years ago. She died in the salt mines." A dark scowl grew across the man's face.

"I'm sorry. And your wife?"

"He killed her after the last slave revolt." Trysten was quiet.

"You must've earned the wrath of some god to end up here in this hellhole." The man told him sadly. "And once you're here, you never leave. You'll be lucky to survive the month. Where're you from lad?"

"Westeros. I'm Braavosi myself. You westerosi are soft. You'll be dead within a week if you fools don't learn to survive here. This place has it's own rules."

"Then teach me how. I'll be damned if that bastard kills me or any of my men."

"Your men?" The man asked.

"Forgive me, I should introduce myself. Trysten Fadyn, Lord of Star's Reach." He said, holding out his hand. The man took it, firmly shaking his hand.

"Fiorenzo. And if you want to protect your men, keep quiet. Do as the Master bids. He doesn't take kindly to threats." His beard twitched with anger.

"So I've gathered."

"Tell you what," Fiorenzo told him, his armor glinting in the light of the torches that illuminated the slaves quarters "you give me half your meals, and i'll make sure no harm comes to you or that new bunch he just bought. The other guards respect me, give me half your rations and I might convince them to go easy on them with the beatings."

Trysten considered it for a moment. Could he trust this man? The Braavosi were never known for their honor, they put pride before all else. But he had to secure his men's safety. Even if it put him in peril, he couldn't risk it. Besides, it might help to have a friend among the guards.

"Deal."

"Congrats. You've learned your first lesson. Stay in the favor of those who could kill you."

_Maerisa_

She had arrived at the Stark camp earlier that morning. With her was a small contingent of Rangers who escorted her, and they were taken through the camp to the command tent. The soldiers guarding the tent blocked her path, before a voice from inside told them to let her pass, and she was allowed inside.

She entered the tent, her eyes adjusting from the bright sunlight to the darkness within the tent, illuminated by firelight.

"Maerisa! It's so good to see you!" It was her uncle Scipio. He had only visited Star's Reach four or five times in her life, but he was always a kind man and he doted on his oldest niece.

"Uncle Scipio!" She said happily, running towards him. He hugged her, lifting her up in his arms and spinning her around just like he used to when she was a little girl. She giggled happily as he put her down.

"Gods you've grown. Step back and let me get a good look at you". She stepped back, giving him a chance to look at her. The last time he had seen her was on her tenth name day, and she had changed immensely since then. Scipio hadn't changed at all from the last time she had seen him. His oily black hair was slicked back, and his face was rough and covered in stubble. He war simple, practical armor, dented and worn from battle. She remembered sitting on his lap in the great hall of Star's Reach as he told her stories about wear each dent had come from.

"You're beautiful Maerisa, just like your mother. How does she fare?" He told her, sincerely. Uncle Scipio may have been a gruff, tough man, but he loved his family.

"She's doing well uncle. She's been distraught over father, and it'll take time to heal, but she'll move on eventually." Scipio nodded understandably.

"Marius' passing has been hard on all of us. I know your brother took it harder than most. Speaking of him, have you heard any word from him in Volantis?"

"Nothing uncle, at least, not since I'd left." She saw Scipio's eyes flicker for a moment with concern "I'm sure he's fine though, the Margate is one of the finest ships in the fleet, and she's manned by nearly seventy Silversides."

"You're right. I'm sure he's fine, and the little ones?" He questioned.

"Not so little anymore uncle" she laughed, and he smiled. "Seamus and Tania are both growing fast. Seamus has decided he'll become the finest knight the Vale has ever seen".

"And I'm sure one day he will" Scipio told her confidently.

"And what of your family uncle?" She asked him.

"They are well. Hannah and the children are staying in Highgarden. They've become close with the Tyrells, they are cousins after all." He said, staring at the map displayed in the center of the room. She could see the different pieces laid out across the table, denoting the positions of armies and fleets.

"Uncle?" She asked uncertainly, running her hands through her hair nervously.

"Yes my lady?"

"How are we faring in this war? Truly?" He paused for a moment, considering what to say. When he had visited, he had always tried to conceal the horrors of war from her and her siblings. But growing up in Star's Reach, it was inevitable they learned. The city was famed for the skill of it's soldiers, and the best source of skill was experience. She had grown up surrounded by soldiers, she was well familiar with their courtesies and mannerisms, gruff and brusque as they might be.

"That's no worry for a lady-" he began to tell her, before she cut him off.

"Truly uncle Scipio. I can handle it. How do we fare?" He sighed, frustrated.

"It's been a struggle, and continue to be so. One misstep," he paused, considering the map "and all will be lost. King Robb has made me one of his chief advisors at your brother's behest, and its a trying duty. The boy is cunning, that much is certain, but he is young and can be bullheaded and foolish at times. Our host is weakened from fighting. The men are tired and need to rest. Tywin sits with his army at Harrenhall, and from there he sends out Clegane to pillage, rape, and burn the riverlands, and we are powerless to stop him."

"Why not hunt him down? Use the rangers?" She asked.

"We tried that. Iagan had been sent south with a company of outriders to scout and harass with a larger Ranger contingent. We lost contact with him a few days past. It seems Tywin has blinded us to his actions. We know he is raising another host in the Westerlands, but not much else. If he were to march on us now, I fear we may not be able to hold him off," he sighed, rubbing his eyes, staring intently at the map, as if hoping the winning move of the war would fall right into his hands. He looked exhausted. "And King Robb has put me in charge of all of our bannermen, and looks to me for counsel." She could tell he was stressed and exhausted.

"Fear not uncle, I'm sure when Trysten returns the Volantene's will help us."

"I hope you're right Maerisa" he told her, a sad smile playing across his lifts. She smiled back at him, and he seemed to cheer up.

"But this is no worry of yours."He reassumed his air of confidence and self assurance. "I am sure you're tired from your journey. You should rest. After all, you must look your best, plenty of noble young lords here looking for a beautiful lady." She laughed. "I expect you to join the men and I at dinner tonight." He told her. "Who knows? Perhaps one will catch your fancy." She winced at the idea, not particularly thrilled at the thought of being courted.

"I shall uncle, see you at dinner." She exited the tent, walking back through the camp. She could see her retinue setting up her own tent nearby, but first she had to check on Thunder.

It took some time, she nearly became lost three or four times as she wandered throughout the camp, but luckily a friendly soldier was always there to point her in the right direction. She found the stables, a makeshift lean too, and after a quick chat with the stable boy, she was allowed into Thunder's stall, where she brushed his mane and coat. It always seemed to calm her. Brushing him put her into a sort of trance, soothing her and calming her nerves before the night's events. She was startled by a voice from behind her.

"Beautiful horse, is he yours?"

She turned, surprised. Behind her stood a young man, not much older than her, probably around Trysten's age. Like her uncle, he war simple, practical armor. It fit him loosely. He was not bulky or tall, but certainly handsome in a rough way, his dark hair combed messily, and unlike Trysten, he had a beard.

"You startled me!" She scolded him, doing her best to give him an angry look. He merely smiled and laughed.

"Forgive me, my Lady. I had simply come to check on my own." He was formal, probably the son of some noble lord or other. She tried to ignore him as he approached. Thunder watched him intently, and from the corner of her eye she could see him place his hand on Thunder's head, stroking him gently. He removed an apple from the satchel around his back, holding it in front of Thunder, who crunched into it eagerly, whinnying with delight. He looked back at her, crunching on his apple.

_Traitor. _She glared at her horse, but he shook his head, and turned back to the boy.

_Well at least he seems to like him._ She thought, watching the boy from the corner of her eye as he ran his hand through Thunder's mane.

"Thunder."

"Doesn't look like a storm" the boy said, glancing up at the sky. She tossed the brush at him.

"No idiot, the horse's name is Thunder." She said. He laughed again.

"Forgive me, my lady. Thunder, will you forgive me?" He asked, looking at the horse sincerely. Thunder gave him a whinny, stomping his hooves and shoving his muzzle into the boy's face. "It appears he has, can you?" He asked. She was silent.

"Well, since you clearly want to be alone." He said, walking out of the stall and moving through the stable towards the end. She sighed, frustrated, and hung Thunder's brush up, following him down.

"Sorry. I'm just in a sour mood lately."

"My apologies my lady.. Perhaps the feast tonight will put you in a better mood. You are going, aren't you?" He asked expectantly.

"I am. That's part of the problem." She paused, as the boy reached the end of the stable, unlocking the gate and entering the stall. She couldn't see his horse, and the wooden wall blocked him from her view, as she followed him. "Will you be attending?" She asked, turning the corner. She gasped in surprise, staring at the huge beast the boy was stroking, running his fingers through the animal's fur. It was a huge, grey, direwolf.

"I should be," he laughed again, flashing her a bright white smile "I'm the one throwing it".


	8. Chapter 7

_Author's Note: Hey everybody, hope everyone is still enjoying reading this. In this chapter we get to see a few more canon characters make some appearances and finally get seriously involved in the story, please review and let me know how you think the story is going, or anything you think I could be doing better. Just a quick note to clarify, in this version, Theon has not left for the Iron Islands yet, though Robb plans to send him soon, and the Greyjoys have yet to launch their attacks on the North (including Winterfell). Anyways, please let me know how you think I portrayed the canon characters, I've done my best to stay true to their character but if you think that something is out of place for them please let me know! Enjoy!_

_Maerisa:_

She knelt quickly. The boy in the stables was none other than Robb Stark, King in the North. She had thrown a hairbrush at the most powerful man in the North. She would've laughed if she hadn't been so embarrassed.

"My lord, err, my King, forgive me! I wasn't aware it was-" she stuttered, before he stopped her with a wave of his hand, trying to hide his grin, as she blushed bright red.

"Stand up my Lady, no need to dirty that dress of yours." He told her, now unable to conceal his smile. She was forced to smile as well, the blush fading from her face as he lifter her to her feet.

"I meant no disrespect my King. My humblest of apologies."

"None taken. I take it you are Maerisa Fadyn?" He asked her matter-of-factly.

"Yes your grace." She nodded.

"Relax, call me Robb. Your grace sounds so damned formal" he told her, brushing his direwolf's fur. "Besides, your brother calls me Robb, and since he's practically my brother that would make you my sister" he said, grinning up at her. "No need for any formalities here Maerisa. I may call you Maerisa, correct?"

"Of course your- Robb." She caught herself.

"Good. How is your brother? Have you any news?"

"I've heard nothing, though he's only just left. I'm sure we'll receive word from him soon" she told him, nervously brushing back her blonde hair.

"I should hope so. I'm sorry for what happened to your father and brother," he told her sincerely, "they were good men. They will be missed. I promise you though, one day they shall be avenged."

_And who will avenge the men who he kills to avenge them?_ She asked herself.

"Will you walk with me Maerisa?"

"Of course your gra- Robb." She replied, taking his arm as he led her from the stables, his Direwolf at his heels. They walked throughout the camp, talking about Thunder, his Direwolf who she learned was named Grey Wind, their families, and their homes.

"You miss it don't you?" He asked her.

"Every moment." She answered, and he nodded in understanding.

"It's been so long since I've been home. I miss Winterfell. Rickon must be old enough to ride by now. I haven't seen him in forever..." he trailed off, looking wistfully northwards. After a moment, he looked back to her, as if remembering something. "You told me you weren't looking forward to the feast. Why?"

"My uncle Scipio thinks it is time I married. He means to arrange a suit, hopefully finding a suitable match tonight." She confessed. "I'm afraid I won't love him. What if he's some sour northerner, or old or ugly. How can I agree to marry someone I've never met?" She asked him.

"Well, we Northerners aren't so sour and grim all the time." He laughed, and she groaned, as she gave him a mock curtesy and asked for forgiveness, before he became serious again.

"I understand how you feel." He answered, guiding her through the camp and back to her own pavilion. "When my mother arranged my marriage with one of Walder Frey's daughters, I was somewhat less than thrilled. Then I met Talisa, and well, the rest is history. But I can understand your fear." They were both silent for a bit, before Robb spoke up.

"You know, you remind me quite a bit of my sister. She never wanted to marry either, always so independent and headstrong. But keep an open mind. I know there are plenty of good men here, and they would all be lucky to have you as a wife." He told her, looking her sincerely in the eye.

"Thank you Robb."

"I promise you, I'll talk with your uncle. I'll make sure no one horrid ends up on the list. You have my word." She thanked him.

"Well, here we are." He said, pointing to her tent. "I should be going, lots to do before tonight" he explained. "I'll see you there. It's been a pleasure to meet you Maerisa. I'm sure we'll talk again later." She thanked him for his company, and he walked off, heading back to the main tent to prepare for the night's festivities. She watched him walk away. He was a good man. Talisa was lucky to have him. She could only hope her betrothed would be as kind and good natured as he was, and maybe even handsome. She was jarred from her thoughts by the sound of one of her ladies-in-waiting shouting to her.

"Maerisa! Where have you been? We need to prepare you for tonight!" She screeched. Maerisa sighed, turning and entering the tent.

_Later that Night_

Dusk had fallen, and the soldiers huddled in small groups around small cooking fires. She could hear them laughing and talking around their fires, the normal sounds of a military camp gone. There was no shouting or yelling, save those of the men laughing at one another, no scrape of steel on steel, no constant hammering of hammers on anvils, no men rushing around carrying armor or weapons, just laughter and the sound of men enjoying themselves.

Meanwhile, she couldn't have felt more dejected as she walked towards the feast. As she passed between the fires, men gave her polite nods or even greetings as she passed them, but she felt completely alone, even with her uncle Scipio at her side. She was completely terrified. What if she committed some sort of blunder? Or said something silly or stupid? Her heart was practically beating out of her chest as two guards pulled the tent flap aside and she was escorted in on her uncle's arm.

She scanned the room, looking for a familiar face or someone she might consider as a suitor. _At the very least it'll help to have an idea of who is appealing, _she thought cynically. The tent was warm, a fire burning at the far end. The smells of different foods drifted through the air. She saw a boar roasting on a spit, rabbit and duck passing by on platters, and arrays of other foods she didn't quite recognize. Many lords sat at a high table at the other end of the tent, laughing and drinking. The sound of music filled the tent, the musicians playing happy, upbeat tunes, as other lords and ladies danced in the center of the tent. Many of them wore rich silks or vests, or fine, ornamental armor. For her own part, she wore an azure silk dress, with gold thread lacing it together, and her favorite necklace, a pendant inlaid with a ruby fox. Her father had given it to her for her last nameday.

Her eyes searched the room, until finding Robb. He flashed her a friendly smile, and her heart slowed a bit from it's terrifying pace.

"Ready?" Her uncle asked. He wore his usual clothing, his simple armor, except this time he wore a tunic over it, embroidered with his black fox sigil. She gulped, and then nodded, as he walked her to the center of the dance floor, before the long table where Robb and his lords sat.

"Your grace," he said, she felt as though she was shaking she was so nervous. She was unused to the formalities of court. This would be many lords first impressions of her, and it was of the utmost importance that her first impression was a good one. She felt absolutely alone, standing before them all, all the eyes on her. She did her best to avoid making eye contact with any of them, but her eyes paused for a moment on Robb, who gave her a reassuring smile. "May I present my niece, Lady Maerisa, of house Fadyn, sister of Trysten Fadyn, Lord of Star's Reach." What now? Was she supposed to curtsy? Or bow? Or say something? Her heart was racing, it surprised her that the other lords and ladies couldn't hear it she felt it was beating so loud. She hesitated, not quite sure of what to do. It felt like an eternity, before she finally curtsied before Robb.

"Lady Fadyn, welcome" he said, a warm, friendly tone in her voice, calming her, as if too say that she did fine. "Please, Lady Fadyn, enjoy the feast, you shall be our most honored guest tonight".

The moment passed, and she felt her heart slowing as she took her seat at the table. She was seated at a place of honor, beside Robb's wife and her uncle Scipio. She watched quietly as the food and wine was brought before them, eating slowly and carefully, and doing her best to remember what Septa Eleanor had taught her about table manners, but her hands still shook.

"Lady Maerisa" Robb's wife said. She almost dropped her fork, she was so startled. She hadn't expected anyone to actually talk to her. She was simply hoping that she could get through the evening without having to say anything. She struggled to regain her composure.

"My queen" she responded.

"Talisa" she said. Maerisa had never known her name, or even seen her for that matter. She had heard she was beautiful, and she supposed the rumors were correct. Talisa was young, probably not much older than she was. She had long, brown locks, dark brown eyes, and darker skin. "I was told you came here to find a suitor?" The queen asked.

"Indeed your grace."

"And?"

"I'm nervous your grace." The queen laughed. Her smile radiated, and somehow Maerisa felt more at ease. She felt this woman understood her.

"Well that is to be expected my dear. If the prospect of an arranged marriage didn't make you nervous, I might question your wits." Maerisa laughed. "Besides," the Queen told her confidently " I am sure you will have plenty of handsome young suitors, being the beauty that you are" she told her.

"Thank you your grace. I'm sure my beauty palls to yours in comparison." Talisa chuckled. "Thank you lady Maerisa. Please though, you must relax. Enjoy yourself!" She could tell she liked the Queen already.

They spent the next few minutes talking. Talisa told her of her life in Volantis, and they found they had much in common. Both never had many noble ladies at court with them, and as such were somewhat unfamiliar with the noble customs. They both were somewhat isolated from the other noble ladies of their age, and never had many noble friends growing up. They talked about Maerisa's life in Star's Reach, and of their families. Talisa told her of her father, a Volantene warlord, and Maerisa told stories of her own lord father. They laughed at stories of their younger sisters, and soon, Maerisa became more comfortable as the evening went on.

Talisa was interrupted in the middle of a story by Robb.

"If I may steal my lady wife for a moment lady Maerisa, I would have this dance" he said.

"Of course your grace." Robb thanked her, taking Talisa by the hand into the center of the dance floor. He motioned for the musicians to begin a song, and they played a slow dance, which Maerisa recognized as the tune of "Two Hearts Beat as One". She watched Talisa and Robb with envy, as they danced, slowly circling the floor. Both seemed completely engrossed by one another, seeming to lose themselves in each other and forget the world around them. Their love was apparent to anyone who was watching. She envied them, marrying for love, while she would have to marry some lordling or knight for alliance. They seemed so completely happy together, having something she knew should could never have. She nearly wished she was a queen, able to renounce her vows and simply marry whom she chose, but she knew that would be unwise. The dance ended, and Robb and Talisa exchanged a quick kiss, much to the other lord's delight, who cheered and laughed at the two of them. The music picked up to a faster tune, and the two separated, returning to the table.

Robb guided Talisa to her seat, before turning to her.

"And now, as the guest of honor, may I have this dance my lady?" He asked her, offering her his hand.

"With your lady wife's permission of course" she responded, looking to Talisa, who smiled and gave them a nod, as Robb led her out onto the dance floor, among the other lords and ladies, who were dancing to "The Bear and The Maiden Fair". They danced the the music, stepping forward and back with the beat and circling one another.

"How are you enjoying the feast?" Robb asked. "Seen anyone to your liking? Anyone you would like me to arrange a meeting with?"

"No your gr- Robb" he smiled at her correction. "No one yet."

"You and Talisa seem to have hit it off though" he noted.

"Indeed, she is a lovely woman." She told him sincerely, and he nodded, looking back to his wife.

"I'm lucky to have her."

"I can only hope my own lord husband and I have the same relationship the two of you have." She told him honestly, and he frowned.

"I'm sure you will Maerisa, a beauty such as yourself. You do look absolutely stunning tonight."

"Thank you Robb."

"Have you met any of the other lord's sons yet?" He asked.

"Not yet, no. Anyone in particular you had in mind?"

"No one really. Perhaps Harrion Karstark, Wendel Maderly, or Benfred Tallhart. All noble families and good men I assure you." Robb told her as they danced.

"Perhaps." She told him, doing her best to spot them in the crowd as he pointed them out.

"If you need anything, do not hesitate to ask" he told her, before they split, changing dance partners. She watched him move away, dancing with a different lady, before she looked to her own partner.

"Fadyn." Came a cold voice. She looked back to her partner. She had not seen him before, but she recognized the Kraken pin on his doublet and immediately knew who he was.

"Greyjoy." She immediately took a disliking too him. There had never been any love lost between the Fadyns and Greyjoys. The Fadyn Silversides had on more than one occasion foiled Greyjoy incursions and raids, and killed Greyjoy pirates and raiders. Those same raiders were the very reason for the formation of the Silversides, who although mirroring the Ironmen's equipment and tactics, shared very few similarities beyond that, and Greyjoy pirates had long been the the bane of Fadyn maritime ventures. She recalled her father once condemning Balon Greyjoy as a "weak, powerhungry, cowardly pirate"._ He never had been one for niceties or euphemisms._ She thought fondly. But the for all the love the Fadyns bore the Greyjoys, their was even lesser on the converse. It had been Fadyn Silverside Marines which had been the first on the beaches at Pyke and Old Wyk, and it had been Fadyn ships that sunk the ships of Rodrik and Maron Greyjoy. No. The Fadyns and Greyjoys were not fond of one another. And now, Balon Greyjoys heir, Theon, stood before her.

He was silent as they danced, and as he ignored her she did her best to get a good look at him. He was taller than Robb, with a lithe, wiry frame. His hair was short and messy, and hung in loose, dirty brown curls around his head. He wore a black doublet over his armor, embroidered with a Gold Kraken, a dark blue cloak, and black boots.

"So you're the fabled beauty of Star's Reach" he told her abruptly, still not making eye contact as they danced. "Bit of an overstatement really." He told her callously. "The great Lady Maerisa Fadyn. The mountain rose." He said sarcastically. "Not quite sure what all the fuss is really about." He shrugged nonchalantly. She did her best to remain silent, resisting the urge to slap this Greyjoy, knowing he would take more satisfaction if he managed to get a reaction out of her.

"Apparently not much of a talker either. It appears taking a Fox as your sigil doesn't impart their wit." He told her. She had always heard Greyjoys were irritating, but gods was this one infuriating. That was the last straw.

"It appears taking a squid for yours though, does impart some of its qualities" she told him curtly. "Such as being slimly and disgusting, not to mention the smell." He smirked at that. Even his smirk was infuriating. It was a cocky, self assured look, as though he was superior to everyone.

"And the young fox speaks at last. She's cleverer than she looks." He told her, still not breaking stride in the dance and still not making eye contact.

"Well I wish I could say the same of you Lord Greyjoy." She told him. "And unfortunately, you don't look particularly clever to begin with." He grinned again, a mischievous grin, infuriating, but somehow endearing. She didn't know how Robb put up with him.

"But the fox has claws and fangs, it would seem" he told her, chuckling to himself.

"And may I ask what seems to be so humorous lord Greyjoy?"

"You are my lady."

"And why might that be?" She demanded.

"Because underneath those pretty clothes, and behind that pretty face and all the innocence, you can be rather scathing. Certainly not what I was expecting from a Fadyn." He told her, finally looking at her. His eyes were bluish grey, like the sea on a stormy day.

"Was that a compliment lord Greyjoy?" He merely smirked, before leaving her, the dance over. She huffed, her heart was beating rapidly again. _Damned Greyjoy, riling me up. Who does he think he is? With his damned cocky attitude and self-satisfied smirk. Gods is he irritating. _She thought angrily as she walked back towards her seat, doing her best to ignore him and put him far from her thoughts. Unbeknownst to her, he watched her return to her seat, a small smile on his face as she stormed back, an irritated expression on her face.

_Margaery- earlier that day_

They had been riding back from King's Landing. She was accompanied by her brother, Ser Loras, and her grandmother, Olenna, as they returned to Highgarden from the capital. She had been betrothed to King Joffrey Baratheon (or Lannister as his enemies were fond of calling him) for only two months, and she was already growing exhausted with him. The boy was sadistic. He tortured women and children and seemed to revel in killing, but he was not a knight or a soldier. He was cowardly boy, who often as not hid behind his mother's skirts or his Kingsguard's armor whenever there was real work to be done. No. He was too cowardly to be a knight, and too cruel, monstrously so if Sansa Stark was to be believed. He was a spoiled brat.

But her betrothal to him had been necessary, she tried to convince herself. It provided a powerful alliance between houses Tyrell and Lannister, and, most importantly, it would make her the queen. She would improve the lives of the poor. She would help them, protect them from him, she tried to tell herself, doing her best to justify her marriage to that little bastard, telling herself that if she did not sit beside him on the throne, then someone weaker might, someone who would let him commit his atrocities. But she found that she was having trouble assuring herself. She did her best to help people though. It was her duty. One day she would be their wueen, or their lady, and it was her duty to protect and help them, whether that was through charity, medicine, or simple kindness.

Loras rode behind her, as he often did. She liked to ride out in front of the column, to be alone with her thoughts for once. Constantly playing the good, noble lady, too manage the politics and diplomacy and to smile for those you hated was exhausting, and it was nice to simply be herself once more, riding back home to spend some time away from her betrothed. Her grandmother rode farther back, sitting in a carriage, flanked by Ser Loras and other armed guards.

They were almost home. She recognized the Mander, its calm waters, as she rode through the woods. Sunlight filtered through the forest, dappling the road, and shining through the lush canopy. She could smell flowers on the breeze, growing on beside the road in clumps of red, blue, yellow, and violet and spreading out into meadows in between the trees, as songbirds darted through the canopy, their songs music as the wind ruffled the treetops.

She sighed happily. She had missed this so much. They were nearly home, and she enjoyed the feeling of the warm breeze through her hair as she rode her white mare. She heard hoofbeats approaching from farther down the road, but her view of the horse and its rider was obscured by the trees, until the horse came trotting into view. She waved to its rider, but received no reply. The horse paused on the road, watching them as they approached. She did her best to make out the rider, until the horse turned it's flank to them and she gasped, spurring her own horse faster.

The horses flank was slick with blood, and a man lay in the saddle, slumped over, unconscious. She heard Loras shout behind her, startled by her outburst, until noticing the man in the saddle. She called for Maester Cadwall to come quickly, as she neared the man.

She dismounted her horse, grabbing the reins of the man's horse and doing her best to calm it, and take its rider out of the saddle. Loras helped her, lifting the man onto the ground and doing his best to examine the man.

"He's still alive" he told her "though for how much longer I don't know. These wounds look serious." Maester Cadwall ran up to them, carrying a jug of water and his medical kit.

"Margaery, we need to clean this blood off him first. Take the water" he told her, handing her a wet cloth. She scrubbed at the mans face and armor, doing her best to locate his wound. Loras did the same, scrubbing away dried blood.

Upon closer inspection, the man was really no more than a boy, no older than herself. A large cut ran across his forehead, still bleeding. His face was pale, and his brownish blonde hair was matted in clumps with dried blood. He might've been handsome if not for the dried blood covering his face and chest. His breathing was shallow.

Loras paused for a moment, examining something on the boy's cloak.

"What?" She asked him.

"Look," he said holding up a silver pin on the boy's camouflage cloak in the shape of a leaf. "He's Ranger, he serves the Fadyns. We should leave him." She resisted the urge to slap him.

"He's wounded and you just want to leave him here? We have to help him." She told him, determined. Loras simply sighed. "As you wish sister, but father won't like it." he told her, as he went back to scrubbing the boy down. Maester Cadwall did his best to stop the blood. The boy was badly wounded and bleeding from numerous wounds. A sword had cut through his armor, slicing his side, though luckily the cut wasn't deep. The gash on his forehead wouldn't stop bleeding though, and a cut on his thigh had cut nearly to the bone, and he was bleeding from numerous other scratches and wounds. She helped Cadwall as he stitched up the boys leg, and bandaged his head, doing his best to apply a field dressing, since they were still nearly half a days ride from Highgarden. They loaded him into the carriage, beside her grandmother, who didn't complain, only saying that she would be rather cross if the boy bled on her.

"I did my best to bandage him my lady" Cadwall told her, and she nodded solemnly as they rode. "But he needs medical attention. It's of the utmost importance we get him back to Highgarden and treat him properly as soon as possible. I don't know how much time he has left, he's lost quite a bit of blood." He told her gravely.

"Then we best keep moving. And quickly" she told him, spurring her horse to a gallop, and the rest of the column followed.


	9. Chapter 8

_Author's Note: Hey guys, sorry for the delay on the chapter, i've been up to my neck in school work, and combined with this being a harder chapter to write and some writers block I had trouble getting this one done. Never fear though! Chapter eight is here! Please review, especially if you have any comments on character portrayal or how they act and more importantly, Enjoy! _

_Iagan_

He awoke in a small bed. He was groggy and disoriented, and his head throbbed. He could feel a damp cloth on his forehead, and could hear people mumbling around him. Something about letting him die or simply killing him. He must've been captured by the Lannisters. They didn't seem to realize he was conscious yet. He had to escape. He had to get a warning to Robb. He waited, listening for their footsteps. He could hear someone approaching, moving towards him. He felt their presence next to him. They placed a hand on his head. Time seemed to slow. He grabbed it at the wrist, wrenching them over his shoulder and wincing at the effort, sending them sprawling on their back on the bed. His eyes flashed open, cold and menacing, bringing his wrist down to make the killing blow on the throat, getting a clear look at his adversary and analyzing the room for other threats. His hand covered the mouth to prevent them from alerting the guard.

Then he noticed however, it was no soldier. It was a she. She was screaming. She was an innocent. He couldn't harm her. Ranger code dictated as such. He stopped the blow just inches from her throat. He withdrew her hand from her mouth, and he scrambled back in the bed, moving away from her, shocked at his own actions. He had nearly killed her. She lay, panting on the bed, fear in her eyes, but her screams had stopped.

On the floor lay a shattered pitcher, water spilling across the tiles. A window was open, a warm breeze rushed across his face. He looked out. Before him was a castle, but it was not Harrenhall. The room was in fact empty of any guards whatsoever. Perhaps they were outside. He looked down. His leg had been bandaged, and more bandages were wrapped around his head and torso. He was confused. If the Lannisters had taken him, why was he not in Harrenhall? Why were there no guards? Why were they healing him if they just meant to kill him?

"Where" he paused, knotting his eyebrows as he tried to answer any of the many questions running through his mind "Where am I?" He asked the girl, who had moved over to the ground, retrieving the broken pieces of pitcher.

"Highgarden." She told him curtly, standing and looking him square in the eye. She was not unattractive. She had long, brown curls, fair skin, brown eyes, and an attractive body.

"Highgarden?" He asked, stunned. He had made it. "How long was I out?"

"It's been a day since we found you. You were unconscious, but luckily the fever has broke by now. Your wounds will take longer to heal however." She told him, examining him. "And who exactly are you?" She asked him, her eyes assessing him. He paused. Was it safe to tell this girl? What would the Tyrells do if they knew his true identity? But it was his only chance. He had to get the message to Robb.

"I am Iagan Fadyn, son of Marius Fadyn, Captain of the Star's Reach Rangers, Nympha Company. I must speak with Lord Mace" he said, standing up, wincing at the effort. The girl rushed over to him, stopping him.

"No, you must rest. You are in no position to be moving around" she told him, placing a hand on his chest and laying him back down on the bed. " Eat," she told him, placing a plate in front of him with some fruit and bread. " You must recover your strenght. Lord Mace will see you shortly, now that you're awake I'm sure he has a few questions for you. But for now you must rest." He tried to resist, to sit up once more and walk from the bed, but his strength failed him.

"It is urgent my lady. I must speak with him at once" he cried, but she said nothing, leaving the room.

_About an hour later_

The door flew open, and armored men entered the room, he did his best to sit up. A man in a green and gold doublet strode in, followed by the maid he had met, an old woman, and a boy looking to be about his age in a fine suit of armor.

"May I present, the Lord Mace Tyrell, his son Loras, and mother, Lady Olenna Tyrell" the girl told him.

"Margaery said you were awake" Mace told him.

"M-Maergaery?" Iagan paused for a moment. Mace looked to the serving girl. _No, it couldn't be. Inearly killed Margaery Tyrell? Mace will have my head! _He thought. He struggled to sit up, then, trying to stand out of his bed, collapsed to the floor, doing his best to kneel before the Tyrells.

"Lord Mace," he said. Mace nodded approvingly, guiding him to his feet. "Please," he gesutred "return to your bed, you must rest. I would have you tell me your story" he said, guiding Iagan back to the bed and standing beside him. So Iagan told him his story. How he had raided the Lannister supply train, the ambush, the fight with the Clegane men, and how he survived and ended here. Olenna watched him cautiously, Loras listened intently, hanging on his every word from the battles. Margaery regarded him curiously, as his eyes darted from her to her Lord father, who seemed somewhat bored by him.

"Indeed." Mace said at the end of his story, nodding as if his mind has been made up. "An interesting story boy, but as I'm sure you know, we are allied to the Lannisters, and I am sure your Lord brother will pay a hefty ransom for you. No hard feeling you understand, but you are now our prisoner." Mace told him coldly. "Take him to the dungeons" he said almost apathetically, and the guards moved forward, taking Iagan by both arms and hauling him out of the bed. Mace and the other Tyrells began to move from the room.

"No!" Iagan shouted. "Lord Mace, please! Throw me in the dungeons if you must, execute me! But please! Allow me a message to Lord Robb! Allow me to warn him!" Mace and the other Tyrells paused. Mace turned, gesturing to the guards to halt.

"To warn him? Of what?" He asked, his interest seemingly piqued.

"Of the massacre! The wedding my lord!" Iagan cried frantically.

"A massacre? How? Tell me more?"

"Bring me my pack! I can show you!" Iagan told him. Mace regarded him with suspicion for a moment. His eyes strayed to the Lady Olenna, who gave an almost imperceptible nod, but to Iagan's senses, heightened by Ranger training, it was blatantly obvious. _Lady Olenna is the true power here. _He thought, taking note.

Mace nodded to the guards, who left the room for a moment, bringing Iagan's rucksack in with them when they returned. He rummaged through the contents for a moment before producing the letter.

"Read this my Lord. It will tell you everything." Olenna snatched the letter from his hand before Mace could retrieve it. She opened it, her eyes scanning the page, a small frown becoming more and more evident the more she read. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she looked up.

"Tywin Lannister conspires with Walder Frey and Roose Bolton to murder Robb Stark and his bannermen at the wedding between Walder's daughter and Edmure Tully" she said matter-of-factly. Mace grimaced, while Margaery, who had been whispering to Loras, became suddenly silent.

"It's unheard of! Dishonorable! How dare they!" Loras cried angrily.

"Walder would never be so foolish. To kill his own guests? It would bring the wrath of the old and the new gods with it." Mace exclaimed. Olenna snorted.

"Not to mention the hatred of the smallfolk and nobles alike, as well as hatred towards anyone who associates with the plotters." She paused, thinking.

"So you see my Lord and Lady" Iagan interrupted "it is of the utmost importance that I warn Robb." He wrenched his arms free from the guards hold, tearing one of their swords from its scabbard, leaning on his good leg and struggling to stand without the guards assistance. But he stood, his sword shifting back between Lord Tyrell and the Tyrell guards, as if to defend against the coming attacks. "Seventy-nine men died carrying that message Lord Tyrell! Seventy-nine. Seventy-nine good men! Good men! With families and wives and children. Seventy-nine families I will have to go home to, and explain to that their loved ones died in vain! I will not have that happen!" He shouted, a crazed look in his eye. "I will die if I must! I will cut down every single one of you, if it means that message reaches Robb Stark!" He yelled, and Mace took a step backward in fear. A fury burned in Iagan's eyes, and even though he was in no position to fight, he was determined. "Please! I will double my ransom, anything, but let the message reach him!" He said desperately. The tension grew in the room, the Tyrell guards drawing their blades and pressing him back. Just as it looked as though the first blow would be struck, Olenna interrupted.

"Stop!" She shouted, and the guards paused. "Calm yourself child," she told him in a soothing voice. "No one will be cutting down anyone." She looked at Loras, who had his sword drawn, ready to cut down Iagan, fixing a withering glare upon him and he backed down.

"You have spirit boy. It'd be a pity to kill you. You have honor. More than can be said for that damned Lannister brood." She told him.

"The message will reach Robb." She said commandingly. Mace Tyrell looked at her, shock on his face. "It will?" He questioned. "And what if I say it won't?" He asked.

"Oh shut up!" She told him curtly. "We will send the message. It will do us no good to be allied to the men who break guest right. Do you think they will grant us any more curtesy the minute we outlive our usefulness to them? No. They'll butcher us just as they plan to butcher the Starks. Besides, you damned fool, do you think the other nobles and smallfolk will take kindly to this? Once news breaks that the Lannisters orchestrated the whole bloody affair they will be the most hated family in Westeros. The whole damn kingdom will rebel, that is the ones that haven't yet. It will do us no good to associate with them. The North will never forget it, we will become just as hated." She told him scathingly, and he was silent.

"But what of my betrothal to Joffrey grandmother?" Margaery asked.

"We'll find you a different suitor, love. The boy always was a sadistic little shit anyway. The seven kingdoms will burn under his rule." Olenna replied. "If we stay with the Lannisters now, they will drag us down with them. They are collapsing in on themselves. The smallfolk already hate them, and this will only make matters worse. Cersei is incompetent as we've seen, Jaime is crippled, and Tywin may not have much time on this earth left, especially if his plot becomes known. The only Lannister who could ever pose a threat is Tyrion, and the imp's family is to busy trying to remove him from their affairs anyway. No. We cannot support them any longer, not if we can prevent this."

"Lower your weapons Iagan." She told him commandingly. "I swear to you, the letter will be sent. You have my word." She said when she saw him hesitate. He lowered his sword.

"From now on, Iagan Fadyn will be our guest. No harm shall come of him. Take the letter to Maester Cadwall, tell him to send it with a raven to Riverrun." She said, handing the letter to the guard, who walked from the room.

"Thank you my lady" Iagan said gratefully to Olenna, limping back to his bed. Margaery moved forward, helping him back to the bed and redressing his bandages. Blood had begun to soak them from his recent activity, and she unwrapped them, replacing them with new ones.

"Drink this" she said and when she saw him eye the cup suspiciously she added "it's milk of the poppy. It will help with the pain and help you sleep." He took the cup, drinking it slowly.

"I believe we are done here." Olenna said, leaving the chamber, Loras and Mace in tow. Mace cast him an angry look over his shoulder before he left.

"You need to rest" Margaery told him, and he felt his eyelids growing heavy before he fell fast asleep.

_Trysten_

Each morning he awoke well before sunrise, being dragged from his bed and taken to serve Master Afzal. He quickly learned the ways of the manse, the passages, the hallways, storing it all away in his mind, plotting his escape. Each night, he and Fiorenzo talked. He was right, the work was exhausting. His men showed the visible signs of exhaustion, the back-breaking labor of the mines wearing them down. Ser Daven rarely spoke, simply entering the chamber and falling upon his bed, fast asleep, while he and Fiorenzo talked late into the night, long after the candles had burned out. Fiorenzo told him of his family, his wife, his daughter, of Braavos, and Trysten told him of Star's Reach, his father, and his adventures with the second sons.

He knew that compared to the other men, his job was easy, but it didn't make it any less exhausting. He served Master Afzal as a scribe. Afzal wasn't aware that he could read, but rapidly learned that he could speak almost fluent Ghiscari and Valyrian, a product of his time in Essos with the sellswords and his Maester's teachings when he was a boy. He pored over long documents, detailing slave purchases and sales, trade agreements, bills of sale, largely boring documents. Occasionally though, he found something interesting. It had been nearly a week since they were bought by Afzal, and he had been asked to retrieve a scroll detailing the Master's soldiers. He found it, quickly scanning it. The results were startling. The Master had no real soldiers, only slaves, and none of them unsullied. If he could just convince them to stop obeying they could overthrow the Masters.

He brought the scroll back, handing it to Afzal as he pored over a map in his private chambers. Fiorenzo stood at the doorway, watching him closely. Trysten stepped back, waiting for his next orders in the shadows, until the Master beckoned him over.

"Tell me Trysten," he said, stroking his beard "what do you see here?"

"A map, my lord" he responded, his voice dripping with disdain, but Afzal was too engrossed in his thoughts to notice the slight.

"A map. And what is it a map of?" He asked condescendingly.

"Slaver's Bay, my lord."

"Indeed. And what are the cities of slaver's bay?"

"Mereen, Yunkai, Astapor, my lord".

"Ah but not so. You see, Yunkai and Astapor have been sacked. Overrun by some dothraki bitch calling herself a queen. She's killing the masters, freeing the slaves." Trysten was silent. He had heard whispers of the woman, but never truly believed them. And even so, Mereen's walls would hold, they had never fallen.

"Tell me boy, would you like her to visit?" Trysten remained silent. He wanted to scream at Afzal with all his being, to tell him that he could burn in whatever hell the gods deemed him worthy of, that he hoped the Dothraki queen cut out his tongue, put out his eyes, and served them to him with a poisoned glass of wine, but he did not. He held his tongue, remaining silent, avoiding looking his master in the eye.

"I thought so." Afzal clucked his tongue," what you couldn't possibly understand boy, is that the slaves need the masters. We keep the order. Men crave order. They want to be ruled. To be told what to do. Look at the Dothraki barbarians" he said, turning back to the map and waving his hand in a wide arc over the Dothraki sea, knocking over horse pieces and small wagons. "They do whatever they want, as free as the wind or their horses, and they are barbarians. All they do is eat and kill and fuck. No. Men need to be told what to do. We keep the order, the peace. It is the duty of the lesser men to obey their betters, to obey, and if they do they will thrive." He was silent for a moment.

"This Dothraki bitch must learn that."

"Will you be the one too teach her my lord?" Trysten asked, his voice full of hope.

"No much to my disappointment. The masters have determined that she is not to be met in the field. She commands an army of unsullied," he laughed. "The bitch frees the slaves with slaves! Yet she does not see that without the system, without us, she, and this world" he gestured wildly, taking a long swig of wine "are nothing. Just chaos." He laughed. Trysten's heart sunk with disappointment. Afzal wouldn't be getting himself killed.

_More's the pity. _Trysten thought.

"No. We shall teach her a different way. A much harsher lesson" Afzal told him darkly. Trysten shuddered at the look in his eyes.

_Later that night_

"Are you mad?" One man called.

"No! He's brilliant! Don't you want your freedom?"

"The Masters will put us down! They always do!" Another shouted.

Trysten quieted them all. He had asked Fiorenzo to call a meeting of the slave leaders. They met in a secret tunnel, well below the streets of Mereen and away from prying ears.

"Don't you see? This is our chance! The Masters will be so focused on this queen they'll barely realize what's happening beneath their very noses! It's all an illusion! I've seen the numbers, the reports, the scrolls. Their armies are all slaves! Like us! We just need to convince them to fight with us, or at least not fight against us!"

"But we've tried that! The Masters always win! We cannot fight them!" An old man proclaimed.

"Only because not everyone worked together. If one unit stays loyal, we're doomed. But if we all revolt, who will fight us? The Masters?" Trysten asked. A few men nodded in agreement.

"We're not soldiers! We are bakers, miners, farmers!" The room dissolved into uproar again as men clamored to be heard over one another, arguing fiercely what to do.

"No." Trysten said. "We're none of those. We are slaves! Look around you! This is what we've become! We scrape the ground for table scraps, we live or die at the Master's whim! Do you fear death? Because I can assure you this is not life! This is worse than death!" The room was silent, hanging on his every word. "I may be young, and I may be new to this existence of yours, but I can tell you it is not a happy one. I've seen the work they put us through! It makes us strong. Stronger than he who wields a whip! I cannot promise you life. I cannot promise you we will win. But isn't it worth it? Isn't it worth just a chance at a free life? Isn't it worth it, to die free? Just a chance?" The room was silent. Then, slowly, the men stood up.

"I admire your passion boy, but we simply can't win. Ask your friend Fiorenzo here what happens to slaves who revolt." The old man said, turning and leaving. Soon, Trysten was left alone with Fiorenzo, who simply shook his head sadly.

"I told you they wouldn't fight. No one will defy the Masters." He said, before following the slave leaders out, leaving Trysten alone with his thoughts, listening to the quiet clank of chains as they echoed down the long corridors away from him.

_Maerisa_

They had arrived at the Twins earlier that morning. The wedding festivities were scheduled to begin that night, with the ceremony and feast taking place in two night's time. Meanwhile however, the northern host and Frey armies ate and drank. In a common southron practice, she learned, prior to the wedding night there was often a ball. The Frey's had decided upon a masquerade ball, and her uncle Scipio had told her that she had to attend.

"The Freys are a large, powerful family" he told her solemnly "and Walder Frey has many sons, perhaps you'll find one you like". She had groaned. If the stories of Walder Frey were true, he was an bitter old man stricken with gout, with more wives that she had siblings. He was a man of little honor if the Greatjon's mutterings were correct, and many called him behind his back "the late" Lord Walder, and joked he had only missed the battle of the Trident because he fielded his army from his own loins and was waiting for it too mature.

She was escorted into the great hall by her uncle, Scipio. He wore a mass of a black fox, adorned with fur and feathers. His gold eyes glittered behind the mask, sharply contrasting with the darkness of the mask and his hair. After leading her in, he left her abruptly, going to mingle with many of the other northern lords.

She sat at the long table. Beside her was one of Walder Frey's daughters, she hadn't learned her name. The girl was uncomely to say the least, her face pockmarked and gross, with oily, wiry brown hair and crooked teeth, but she seemed pleasant enough. To her right sat Dacey Mormont. She hadn't spent much time with Dacey, but the two had ridden alongside one another on the march to the Twins.

"Seen anyone of interest?" Dacey asked. She had seemed to take it as her duty to help her find a match.

"No one in particular." She said. "You certainly look nice, perhaps you should wear a dress instead of armor more often" she said jokingly. Dacey wore a long, green gown, and held a pale white mask. "If I may ask, who are you?" She questioned. Dacey laughed.

"I fear not, armor and a mace seems to suit me better than a dress and a hairbrush. Tonight however, Robb has asked I stay on my best behavior, I am one of the children of the forest" she said, gesturing to her mask with irritation. It was carved with ornate leaves and a laurel wreath. Dacey hated having to act the part of a lady, and Maerisa knew she could easily fight any of the men in the room and stand a fair chance of winning. "And who might you be?" She asked, examining Maerisa's own dress as she reached for a leg of chicken.

"The maiden" Maerisa said. Although normally not one for dresses, she preferred riding trousers and her boots, tonight at Robb's request she had attended the ball in one of her finest dresses. It was a silvery gown, decorated with golden heart tree leaves running along the smooth silken fabric. Her hair was tied up in the traditional southern style, with a pin holding it in place, and a small circlet of flowers carved in silver sitting on her head.

"The maiden" Dacey said in surprise, examining the mask "I wasn't aware House Fadyn kept the seven."

"We don't." Maerisa replied "but my Uncle Scipio thought it might be more accommodating to any southern suitors if I didn't seem quite as objective to their gods." She explained.

"Ahh, Scipio. He always did have a talent for diplomacy." Dacey said sarcastically. She served on Robb's war council as well, and was known to frequently disagree with her uncle on matters of strategy. Maerisa laughed.

"That he does." She said, popping a lemon tart into her mouth. The band began to play, an upbeat, lively tune, and soon the dance floor began to fill. It started with Edmure Tully and his betrothed Roslin Frey, dancing together. Tully wore an azure mask, with fins sprouting from either side, obviously portraying the Tully fish. Roslin's persona was somewhat more ambiguous.

_Probably some forest nymph_. She thought, immediately feeling a pang of grief as the word reminded her of her fallen half-brother Iagan, leader of the Nymphs company in the Rangers.

Soon the majority of the hall was dancing, the music slowing to a traditional southron ballad, and the lords and ladies danced a more reserved, formal dance. She had remained seated, watching quietly, until Robb Stark approached her.

"Well you seem the picture of joy." He said, flashing her a grin.

"Forgive me, my Lord, I don't generally dance." She said, offering him a mock-curtsy.

"You can't be that bad. Not any worse than myself, let alone many of these drunks" he said, looking over too the dance floor and one of the Frey bannermen staggered around, doing his best to keep his balance and the contents of his stomach.

"Our noble allies" she responded sarcastically, and he grew serious for a moment.

"Indeed," he said, a dark look cast over his face. "Ever so noble." He paused for a moment, as if angry or lost in thought. The moment passed however, and he regained his composure and returning to his good spirits. _For all his seriousness, _she thought, _he is still just a boy. No older than Trysten. He still needs to laugh now and again. _

"Dacey," he said, turning to her companion, "I thought we agreed we would work together to find her a happy match" he said jokingly.

"Yes my lord" the older girl said, looking at him.

"And how can we do that, if she remains here?" he asked innocently.

"I'm not certain we can my lord" Dacey replied, casting Maerisa a mischievous look.

"In that case, lady Mormont" Robb said, "may I steal her for a moment?" He asked.

"Be my guest." Dacey replied, a somewhat pained look on her face.

"Lady Maerisa," Robb asked "may I have this dance." She pouted at Dacey for a moment, shooting her a "thanks a lot" look, as Robb brought her out onto the dance floor.

"So no one yet? Really?" He asked circling her. "You have met everyone though?"

"Yes, I've met them all. Maderly, Karstark, Umber, that infuriating Greyjoy boy" she said, and Robb smiled at the mention of Theon.

"He's a good man." He told her.

"He's an irritating self-satisfied man." She corrected him, and he smiled apologetically.

"That too. Theon may have his faults, but he means well. He's like a brother to me."

"I know."

"What of the others?"

"Manderly seemed pleasant enough, but not exactly much of a thinker."

"No. That's true, Wendel is a fighter at heart." Robb said. "What about Mallister?"

"He's too concerned with his damn honor and winning this war. He has no time for love."

"You truly are a lady hard to please" Robb jested. "Or should I say a 'maiden' tonight? Turning to the seven?" He asked, grinning.

"You know damn well why I'm dressed like this. We all can't wear a wolf mask and be happily married." She told him curtly, referencing his own mask for the night, clearly a direwolf, and he smiled.

"Speaking of which, where is your lady wife." The smile instantly disappeared from his face.

"She is... uhh... indisposed... after our prior dance... and we thought it best not to antagonize Lord Walder with her presence..." He trailed off, throwing a nervous glance over his shoulder to Walder Frey.

"You're a terrible liar Robb." She told him, and he gave her a small apology.

"Sorry. But I suppose I can trust you. However, this isn't the place to discuss it. I'll tell you later." He promised, before the dance split them and she found herself with a new partner.

As she was whisked around the dance floor, she encountered numerous different Lords. She managed to determine who most of them were, many of them her potential suitors. They all seemed pleasant enough, but she didn't feel a connection to any of them, and as the dance neared it's end, she had given up any hope of meeting someone that night.

The dance drew into is final set, and she found herself with the man who was to be her last dance partner. He was taller than her, and wore a dark blue doublet. His mask was interesting to her, a sea-blue mask, encrusted with scallops and barnacles. He wore high black boots, with clicked across the stone floor with each step as they twirled around the dance floor. Behind the mask, peering at her from behind the shells, were two beautiful blue-grey eyes, watching her own as they moved, drawing her in. He had brown curls, which hung loosely around his head, falling messily around his face, and she resisted the urge to tuck them into place.

_Who is this man?_ She thought. He was no northern lord, she would've met him already, and her uncle had pointed out all the southern lords that were not present in the northern host already. He danced well, moving carefully, each step precise. A dagger was strapped to his hip, tapping against his side as they moved.

"And who might you be?" He asked, and her heart jumped at his voice. She did her best to keep her own voice steady, doing her best to avoid looking into his eyes.

"The maiden, and you are?"

"Lord of the Sea. The drowned god." The man said, twirling her around. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. Her heart raced at that.

"You certainly are a good dancer" she told him, keeping her voice calm and collected. "Have we met before?"

"I don't believe so. I would've remembered a beauty like you." He said, and she blushed, looking away from him. The world seemed to slow as they danced, her hands around his neck and his hands on her hips as they glided across the dance floor to the music. Then, the music stopped. The dance was over. He nodded politely at her, and then, just as quickly as he had arrived, he was gone. She stepped away.

_Gods what is happening to me? _She shook her head, trying to collect herself. _A pretty face and a few nice comments and I swoon?_ She thought, frustrated. Yet still, a little voice in her head whispered it was more than that. _Shut up. _She thought. _I'll be damned if I'm going to fall for some Southron boy like this. _She thought determined. _I don't even know his name._ She left the hall to get some fresh air.


	10. Chapter 9

_Author's Note: Hey guys! I figured to make up for the lack of updates I'd get you guys two chapters in quick succession. Sorry this ones a bit shorter, but I've been quite busy and I'm not sure when the next one will be, so I'll do my best to get you the next chapter ASAP. The feedbacks been great, thanks to everyone who reviewed! Hopefully you guys are still enjoying the story, as usual review with any comments, concerns, feedback, etc, and as usual, enjoy!_

_Maerisa_

She stood on the balcony, overlooking the trident. Behind her, in the great hall, she could hear the music playing and the sounds of men laughing. But she needed to clear her head. She missed Star's Reach. She missed her mother and sister and her brother's and her father. She had never been away this long.

Above her, the stars twinkled in the night sky. In the distance, she could hear an owl hoot, the wind rustling through the trees and below her, the quiet rush of water through the reeds as the trident passed under the bridge. She looked up. Her father had always told her _"no matter where you go, no matter what happens, the world will go on. Those same stars will watch over you, the same moon, the same sun. They watch over us, protect us, and as long as you can see them, you can find your way home." _ He would tell her as they walked along the beach at night. As she grew older, she came to understand what he meant. Some nights, when he was gone, she would climb up the parapets of the castle onto the roof of the tallest tower and simply look at the stars. She had committed them all to memory. The mother, the warrior, the wolf, the bear, the giant, the dragon, and the stranger, alone, twinkling in its own dark section of the night sky, she knew all of them like the back of her hand.

"_Dad" _she thought, looking up to the heavens, _"if you're up there, if you can hear me, I need your advice. I need a sign." _ She waited. Nothing. She sighed.

She heard the door open behind her, the roar of the festivities escaping and then disappearing again as the door shut. She heard the click of boots on stone behind her, a figure approaching, standing quietly on the balcony.

Although they couldn't have been more than three feet apart, each was completely isolated from the other. They stood, still as statues, simply listening to the sounds of nature, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Then, the figure broke the silence.

"They're certainly beautiful aren't they?" He asked. She looked over to him, nearly doing a double take, it was the same man from the dance. The drowned god.

"Certainly." She said, doing her best to keep her composure.

"I remember learning these constellations" he said "my father taught me. Used to tell me I could navigate using them, sail to anywhere I wanted to go." He told her.

"My father taught them to me too." She replied.

"Oh, really. He must be a smart man."

"He's dead." She said sadly, and he was silent for a moment, as they both looked back out over the river, the starlight glistening off the slow moving water. After a long silence, he spoke again.

"I'm sorry." She was quiet. "Almost makes you miss home doesn't it? Makes this all" he said, gesturing back to the feast "feel so insignificant, so unimportant." He said, and she found herself agreeing with him.

"Sometimes I just wish I could leave it all, get away, go home" she told him honestly, and he nodded in agreement.

"You just want to stop all the games and be allowed to live your life the way you want." He said, understanding. A streak of light moved across the sky, a falling star, and Maerisa felt another pang of longing for home.

"Have you been away long?" She asked.

"Nearly my whole life. I hardly remember it." He said. She shivered, she had grown up in the Vale, but in a valley warmed by the eastern winds, and nights here could get cold fast. He noticed, his eyes connecting with hers for a moment, and she glimpsed the stars twinkling off them before she quickly averted her eyes.

"You're cold." He said simply. "Where are my manners," he said, slipping off his tunic "here, take this." He said, before she waved it away.

"Thank you my lord, but I'm fine, truly," she said, doing her best to stop him. Gods what was happening? Was she losing her mind? She barely knew this man. She didn't even know his name! She couldn't let this happen.

"I insist" he said, cutting her off. He moved closer, putting the tunic around her shoulders, and she pulled it tightly around herself as he held onto it at the shoulders.

"There," he said, a satisfied tone to his voice. "Now isn't that better?" He asked, his face only inches away. She had to admit, he was right. The tunic was warm, far warmer than her dress, and she nodded gratefully to him, meeting his gaze for a moment before looking away. _No, no, no, no_! She thought. _This can't be happening. You can't love him!_ She chastised herself.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned. "Have I offended you? If I did I'm truly sorry- I meant no disrespect" he began before she silenced him.

"It's just" she interrupted, trying to collect her thoughts and compose herself. "it's just..." she trailed off, meeting his eyes once again before looking back down.

"It's just what?" He asked, taking her chin in his hand and tilting her head up towards him, forcing her to look at him.

"I'm afraid I'll do something I'll regret..." She trailed off, and the moment their eyes made contact, she knew she was gone.

"Like what?" He asked, sounding almost genuinely confused. Beneath the mask she could see his eyebrows coming together. His curly hair hung down, over the top of the mask, thrown out of place when he took his tunic off.

"Like this." She breathed, before leaning in, pressing her lips to his. The moment their lips touched, she felt a surge of warmth pass through her body, and he pulled her tight to him, her hands resting upon his chest. She could've sworn the entire feast went silent, the world seeming to come to a stop. She wasn't quite sure how long the kiss lasted, whether it was minutes, seconds, hours, or days, but she knew she didn't want it to end.

Eventually he pulled away ever so slightly, and then it was over. He still held her tight, which she was grateful for, the wind had kicked up and it had become a bit colder. They looked at each other in silence, she brushed a strand of hair out of his face, tucking it back into place, before he broke the silence.

"May I see who the lovely lady is?" He asked, and she laughed quietly. She smiled at him, and he removed the mask. She looked at him, waiting for some sort of reaction.

She did not get the reaction she was hoping for. He dropped the mask in shock. His face turning from one of tenderness to one of horror. She couldn't understand. Why? He stepped back, and as she grasped at his shirt she felt a hard, metal chain pass through her hand. She grabbed it and he paused, remaining where he was. The symbol was unmistakeable. In her hand she held a golden Kraken.

"Greyjoy?" She gasped.

"Fadyn?"

_Iagan_

It had been nearly two days since he arrived at Highgarden. Margaery had not been back to visit him since she had met him with her father and grandmother to barter for his freedom and Robb's life. He knew the letter had been sent, he had followed the Maester up to the raven's roost and watched him dispatch the raven. He could only hope the letter reached Robb in time. The walk to the roost was exhausting, and he barely managed it with his injuries. Maester Cadwall told him he would make a full recovery given time, but he hated the weak helpless feeling that consumed him with his inability to do anything. Cadwall refused to let him leave his quarters, demanding that he rest, but he was going insane simply sitting in his bed staring out the window.

It was for that reason he had snuck out of his quarters to the gardens. _The fresh air will do me good. _He thought, trying to justify ignoring the Maester's rules. He needed to be outside though, and he missed nature. _Rangers aren't meant to be cooped up inside castles_. He thought as he paced the gardens. His cloak was tattered, but he still wore it as he limped along the paths deeper into the gardens into the undergrowth.

He sat in a tree, overlooking the castle grounds beneath him. Even this was better than being cooped up in some bed in the castle, being in the outdoors, rather than in the suffocating stone walls. The wind rustled through the leaves in the trees, blowing through his hair. He watched as lords and ladies walked slowly through the perfectly groomed paths and manicured bushes. As artificial as this wilderness was, it was still superior to his prior arrangement. He watched as lords walked beneath him, discussing matters of state and politics. Servants rushed through beneath him, carrying fruit and wine.

He had always found being in nature helped him think. The trees and grass and life helped him put things in perspective, and calmed him. He hated the confines of castles and cities. It was one of the qualities that made him a fantastic ranger. It was what earned him entry into the rangers in the first place. He had fought with his father and went to the godswood to be alone. Even though his father had legitimized him, they still fought often, a product of his father's rages. He had climbed the weirwood tree, resting in its branches when the saboteur came to burn the weirwood down. He saw him approach, smelled the smoke, and dropped out of the tree on him, plunging his blade through the man's heart before calling for help and quenching the fire. It earned him a place in the Rangers, and singlehandedly changed his life.

He looked down from the tree. Margaery Tyrell was approaching, walking leisurely through the rose gardens. Her brown curls cascaded over her shoulders, shining in the sunlight. Her dress trailed behind her, accentuating her curves as she bent over to pick a rose. He realized he had never thanked her for her care, and nearly killed her.

He dropped down from the tree branch, passing through the brush and moving towards her.

"My lady" she whipped around, nearly screaming before composing yourself.

"Oh. It's you. You really should give people more warning before you do that, it's eerie, nearly killed me of fright."

"My apologies my lady. Common Ranger mistake" he said apologetically, giving her his best friendly smile. Her face remained completely expressionless except for a cold gaze in her eyes. He always forgot that the normal lord's and lady's senses weren't as fine tuned as his, weren't used to people moving as silently as him. It was a burden at times, but it enabled him to move almost completely undetected and held serious benefits. Apparently his social skills were somewhat subpar. Apparently she hadn't forgiven him yet for nearly killing her. A moment of awkward silence passed as she stood, watching him expectantly. She turned to go.

"Wait. Lady Margaery" He said, she turned back towards him. "I never got to thank you, or apologize for nearly killing you" he stammered, giving her a nervous laugh and hoping that it would clear the air between them. She paused, watching him, not betraying a thing. Then, she gave him the most dazzling smile he had seen, and her brown eyes seemed to warm to him.

"It's alright. You'd been through quite a bit. And I think we can drop the formalities." She told him, and he nodded.

"Nevertheless" ughh what was he supposed to say? Growing up an isolated legitimized bastard wasn't particularly beneficial to one's social skills, though it did tend to significantly lengthen one's life expectantly. "I still should've been a bit more cautious".

"True," she laughed "though you seem to have quite a bit of training" she told him. "How do you do that?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"You know... The disappearing act" she gestured broadly to the gardens.

"Oh... That. Just practice I suppose. I've always had a knack for it." He told her.

"It certainly explains how you managed to leave your room without Maester Cadwall stopping you." She looked at him disappointedly.

"Oh. That. Um..." He stammered, trying to come up with his best explanation. She would turn him in otherwise. She laughed.

"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone" she whispered to him. Laughing again.

"I just needed to get out of there. It's so cramped and stuffy. I needed the fresh air and to keep in practice." He told her more confidently as they walked through the gardens.

"Believe me, you haven't lost your touch. You really should get back to your room though. You need the rest."

"I need to practice. I should be getting back to the army. They need me."

"How will they manage without one wounded Ranger?" She asked him sarcastically.

"I need to get back. They need me. I'd imagine I'll leave in the next few days."He told, and she looked at him in shock. Even in an expression of shock she was still gorgeous, he thought, before stumbling over a root. She caught him, helping him back up and allowing him to lean on her as he limped alongside her.

"You're in no condition to be going back to the front." She said. He knew she was right. He felt absolutely defeated. Out there men were risking their lives, dying, all for their lord, and he was forced to sit here, completely useless. She must've seen the defeated look on his face because she rapidly changed the subject.

"You're a Ranger, correct?" She asked, though she must've known full well the answer.

"Iagan Fadyn, Captain of Nympha Company, Star's Reach Rangers." He told her, rattling off the title that had been drilled into him over the years. "Or at least, whatever's left of them." He added, and she gave him a sad look.

"I'm sorry. It wasn't your fault though." She told him sincerely. That was what they all would say though. He knew it was a lie. Everything that had happened had been his fault. Upon seeing the dark look that passed over his face she quickly moved on.

"Tell me, is it true that a ranger could hit a dinner plate at two hundred yards with their bows?" She asked.

"Only the bad ones." He laughed, doing his best to forget his failures. "Any decent Ranger could hit a moving one at almost twice that distance." He told her, before backtracking. "Forgive me, I don't mean to boast." He apologized.

"No, no, Ranger marksmanship is legendary," she told him honestly. "I should like to see a display of it someday." She said, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"Perhaps one day you will, though I should hope you aren't on the receiving end." He smiled.

"Perhaps." Margaery replied, and he could see the disappointment on her face.

"I really should be going though. I need to get back to my unit." He said, changing the subject once more.

"Certainly not." She told him quickly, doing her best to be assertive and intimidating. "We can't allow you to leave in your condition."

"No? And you're going to stop me?" He asked. "Do you really think I couldn't sneak out if I wanted too?" He asked, and she smiled, knowing she was defeated.

"You can't leave, you're still hurt, you're to weak to go." she protested weakly. He laughed. She grew serious, stepping away from him. He collapsed to the ground, no longer able to support his weight now that his support was taken from him.

"OW!" He exclaimed, before seeing a satisfied smirk on her face. "Point taken." He paused as she helped him up. "I still need to leave though. I need to get back."

"Gods you're stubborn." She sighed, exasperated. "The guards still have all of your equipment do they not? Your bow, your armor, your sword?" She asked.

"True, but I can always replace them." He did his best to lie, to conceal his love for his equipment. It held a certain sentimental value for him, and it had been with him since he first entered the Rangers.

"You're a terrible liar Iagan Fadyn." She laughed. "Luckily for you though, I'm willing to make you a deal."

"I'm listening."

"I'll retrieve your bow and armor," she promised "If you swear you will not leave until you are healed." She told him.

"Deal-" he began before she cut him off.

"And, you must teach me how to shoot" she demanded, and he laughed.

"Fine."

_Trysten_

He had been utterly disheartened by the lack of support for his plotted rebellion. The slave leaders had completely rejected the idea. Meanwhile, he toiled working for Master Afzal. The more time he spent with the man, the more he realized how completely incompetent, and how terribly cruel, he truly was. The man relied on him for everything, from reading his letters to tasting his food to taking inventory.

_These slave masters know nothing of real work. They're completely helpless. _He thought.

He watched Ser Daven and the Silversides work in the mines day after day, hauling up stones in minecarts. Their backs glistened with sweat, and occasionally the marks of the lash when the Masters deemed they weren't working hard enough.

Comparatively, he had it easy. But he hated every second of it. Every time the Master asked him to bring more wine, every time he asked him his advice on some menial task, all while carrying his sword. It infuriated him. He wanted to simply plunge the sword into Afzal's back.

But there would be reprisals. He knew there would be. A day before a man had his tongue cut out for daring to speak the name of the Dothraki Queen, two more were executed for promising she would free them and telling the slaves to rise up.

_That could've been me._ He thought, as a saw the bodies displayed from the top of the great pyramid, mangled and horribly desecrated. But the city was gearing up for something. He could feel it. There were murmurings of dissent among the slaves. They were growing anxious as the "Dothraki bitch" as Afzal liked to call her neared closer. Two days before the Masters had taken slave children from their parents, nailing them to crosses and nailing their out stretched arms to posts to point the way to the city. It had horrified him that they would mistreat anyone so terribly, let alone children. It was a grotesque and disgusting display, and had enraged the slaves, but still none dared to act.

Their lack of action nearly angered him more than the Master's actions themselves. Nearly. They simply stood by and watched as children were ripped from their parents arms, brutally tortured and mistreated and killed, just so the Masters could make a point of their power that would inevitably fail to achieve anything of value.

The Masters seemed to forget that not everyone in their world was governed by fear as their slaves were, that not everyone would be intimidated by the displays of strength by a few pompous, pampered, incapable bastards. He could only imagine the rage the queen would feel when she saw this gesture, the fury it would cause and the immense support it would garner for her cause. The Masters would fool. If anything this would do more harm than good, and the last thing they needed was a slave uprising with an angry unsullied army at their gates.

But for now the slaves were quiet. They took their punishments and moved in the shadows, concealing their hate and rage. But eventually he knew, something would tip them over the edge. They just needed a push.


	11. Chapter 10

_Author's Note_: _Hey guys! I'm absolutely thrilled you're making connections with the characters and shipping them! It's awesome that the story's broken twenty follows! Thank you to everyone who has followed or faved it! It's great to see you're enjoying it! In regards to comments about when Daenerys will be appearing I can tell you it will be soon, probably within the next two to three chapters, I don't quite have a specific plan. I'm only delaying her arrival to correspond more accurately to her actual arrival in regards to timing with other plot lines in the show and books. Anyways, here is chapter ten, as usual please review, favorite, or follow if you like it, and feel free to review if you don't as well, any criticism helps! Enjoy!_

_Iagan_

Margaery had followed through on her promise. The next morning, he found his bow and a quiver of arrows sitting on his bed, along with his armor.

It was midmorning, and from the sounds of it the castle had already been awake for some time. Maester Cadwall had given him milk of the poppy to help him sleep, and although the time he slept seemed to increase, it only made his nightmares worse. Last nights had been worse than usual. He dreamt he was standing in the fields as Clegane and Lannister horsemen galloped through the flames, cutting his men down as they ran from the flames, though they were engulfed. It was the same dream he had had every night since the attack, and it seemed to be getting stronger. Each night, he was forced to watch helplessly as friends and comrades were brutally butchered again and again, and he was powerless to stop it. He tried, to be certain, but in his dream he was always wounded, and couldn't seem to move his legs, or to lift his sword. He saw Crispian cut in two by the Mountain, Galtry peppered by arrows, and many more horrors each night, and awoke each morning sweating and more tired than when he had gone to sleep.

He could hear the whinny of horses outside his window, the ringing of steel on steel, the sounds of footsteps, laughter, and conversation, and the calls of birds. The castle was awake, and he was surrounded by others, but he had never felt more alone.

He did however find solace in his bow. It had been given to him by Lord Commander Osgood Hammersmith, or as his men called him, the Hammer. He ran his hands along the weathered wood. It had the Dothraki recurve design, which added extra power, range, and accuracy than the Westerosi longbow, and was smaller and could be fired on horseback as a bonus. Iagan imagined most of Westeros would've adopted it had it not been for its incredible difficulty to produce. The men who made them each had personal styles and preferences that made their bows such pieces of art and such fantastic tools, and they guarded their secrets jealously. He had darkened his bow with charcoal to help camouflage itself, and it had long since worked its way into the grain of the wood. He stood, doing his best to place weight on his bad leg to help strengthen it again. He relished stringing the bow, feeling the familiar tension in the wood and finding his old grip.

It was however already midmorning, and since Margaery had fulfilled her side of the bargain, he had to fulfill his side. He strapped on his armor, leaving the helmet and shield in his quarters. They would be unnecessary today. He pulled his bow over his shoulder and grabbed the quiver of arrows before leaving the stone walls of his chamber and slowly making his way down to the courtyard. His armor's weight was a burden for him, and his injuries made it difficult, but he managed to reach the courtyard without falling or succumbing to his injuries, though he was out of breath. He silently berated his own weakness as he scanned the courtyard for any sign of Margaery. It appeared she was absent.

To his left, a group of men-at-arms were shooting at a small target, apparently wagering on their archery skills, though if he had his choice he wouldn't dare make the bet if he was in their place. Their shooting was adequate, he supposed, for men-at-arms, but they could barely hit the target from a hundred paces.

_Perhaps I'll have a little fun with them._ He chuckled to himself, approaching them. They regarded him with suspicion and caution, as well as a look of contempt from one particularly large man. He was used to this though. He had grown up with men looking at him like this as a bastard, and his unassuming frame combined with his Ranger equipment like his foreign bow and strange cloak often made him a bit of an oddity.

"Looking for someone stranger?" A fat Tyrell bowman asked.

"No one in particular. I saw you were shooting though. Wagering?"

"That we were" the tall one said, narrowing his eyes at Iagan "what's it to you?" He asked bluntly.

"I was wondering if you would care to make a bet?"

"I'm listening" the tall one said, taking off his steel helmet and placing it under his arm, twirling the base of his longbow in the dirt absentmindedly. _Tut Tut. _Iagan thought. _That won't do. Grinding that in the dirt will distort the bow. _He remembered. Any Ranger who mistreated his bow was often severely punished in training. They were taught their bows were their lives. To mistreat your bow was to mistreat yourself.

"I'll bet you five dragons that I can shoot better from two hundred paces than you can from one hundred." He said confidently. The man laughed, his companion's eyes widening in shock.

"Five dragons huh? Seems a bit unfair to take coin like that from a boy like you, 'specially since you seem hurt, and what with a bow like that." He said, and his companions laughed behind him, taunting him. Iagan was used to it though.

"Well then you don't have anything to worry about do you?" He asked. And the man glared at him.

"Fine, if you're that dedicated to losing five dragons I'll take your wager. I shoot first". He said, grabbing his bow and marching to the line. He knocked an arrow and loosed. It was a good shot to be sure, hitting the bullseye, but Iagan silently corrected the man's sloppy form. _Pity. He'd be such a better shot if he just learned to shoot right. _He thought, before limping to his own place. The Tyrell archers laughed as he limped, taunting him and asking if he'd rather hand over the coin now rather than hurt himself. He remained focused.

He unslung his bow, grabbing an arrow from his quiver. He knocked the arrow smoothly on the drawback as he had been taught, pulling the bow to full draw. He felt the familiar tension in the wood as he went through his mental checklist as he had been taught. In less than a second, he checked the wind direction and speed, steadied his breathing, adjusted his stance, and took aim, loosing his arrow, which slammed into the target dead center.

The men were silent as he walked over collecting his winnings. The tall archer's face was red with rage.

"You cheated me!" He shouted angrily.

"Cheated? How so? I did exactly as we agreed." He replied calmly, resisting the urge to punch the man.

"You swindled me! You faked that injury and tricked me into thinking you were weak!"

"I can assure you, the wound is very real, and anyways, that's your own stupidity for assuming." He replied scathingly. The man's face became bright red, as the men behind him laughed at him. A vein in his neck bulged, Iagan could tell the man was furious. He turned to walk away, taking two steps before hearing the man follow him, rushing towards him.

Iagan reacted instantly, his hand grabbing the man's wrist and forcing the knife from his hands. Even in his wounded state, he could still manage to fight well, and his training took over. He punched the man in the gut, and the man doubled over, before taking a knee to his face, sending him reeling backward clutching his face as blood streamed out from his nose. Iagan drove him back towards the stables, pinning him up against the wood, a knife at the man's throat, before slowly stepping away, aware of the number of other Tyrell men who now surrounded him.

Behind him, he saw Margaery approaching quickly, doing her best to move between the men at arms and calm them. The tall man shouted to her.

"Lady Margaery! Have this man arrested! He cheated me in a wager and then attacked me!"

"Oh be quiet Walton." She told him. "I saw it all. You came up behind him with a knife after he beat you, and you should've known not to bet in an archery contest against a Ranger."

"Ranger?" The tall man, Walton, stammered, staring at Iagan. Iagan gave him a sly grin, giving him an almost imperceptible nod. The man's eyes widened in fear. Iagan knew the myths the small folk told of the Rangers, that they were ghosts, or demons, or simply gods among men, unsurpassed in their art. The Ranger's actively encouraged these myths, even doing their utmost to recover their dead and disappear without a trace after their strikes.

"Well, what are you all staring at? Nothing to see here. Get back to work!" Margaery said, dispersing the crowd. Iagan walked away, towards Margaery. However, he spun rapidly, dropping to one knee and loosing four arrows in rapid succession before the first one made contact with the wood. The arrows stuck mere centimeters from the man's face, and he yelped in fear and surprise before scurrying off.

He retrieved his arrows from the wood and approached Margaery, who watched him with the slightest smile on her face, her brown eyes twinkling.

"Show off."

"How much did you see?" He asked.

"All of it. Though it really isn't quite fair of you to take their money like that. Though it was impressive." She scolded..

"Have I offended the lady?" He gave a mock bow. " My apologies, but I must keep up the Ranger myth somehow." He told her.

"Was it ever truly in doubt? At that range? You were that sure you would win?"

"My lady," he smiled "at that Range I couldn't miss. Two hundred paces is nothing" he told her confidently.

"Well in that case, do refrain from simply showing off, give them at least a chance." She told him.

"As the lady wishes" he bowed.

"It's Margaery."

"As you wish Lady Margaery" he gave her a mischievous grin.

"Were the four arrows really necessary by the way? You nearly killed him. And I'm certain he'll have to change his britches after this." She laughed.

"He was completely safe. Besides, did you see the look on his face?" He laughed nonchalantly, placing his bow over his back once more. "Lesson number one, the first shot may win the first battle, but if you scare them enough, you win every battle to come." He told her, and she gave a small smile again, understanding.

_Maerisa_

"Walder Frey is planning what?!" She said, shocked at what Robb had just told her.

"You heard me. He plans to kill us all tonight."

"No. No he couldn't. He's a prideful man but this? No. He wouldn't dare. It goes against every law of the gods and man."

"True, but he plans it anyway. I received a rider from Riverrun last night bearing the very letter which demonstrates his guilt, and Roose Bolton's to boot. All orchestrated by Tywin Lannister. The man is more snake than lion." Robb said angrily.

"Well what will you do?" She asked him, tucking her hair back.

"Perhaps we'll surprise him tonight. We'll give him more than he bargained for. Now that we know his plans we can preempt it. We'll set a trap of our own." He told her grimly. She knew he hated to do this. Daggers in the night and plots were not Robb's preference, he much rather preferred open conflict, as did she, and she knew he was uneasy with his own plans.

"How can I help?"

"You can get as far away from here as possible. I've already sent Talisa back to Winterfell, I want you to accompany her there. I won't be putting you in harms way. I'll need your uncle to stay here though."

"What? No!" She said surprised. "I can't just leave you here to gods know what Walder Frey has planned. What if something goes wrong?" She demanded.

"Then I'll die knowing you and Talisa are safe." He told her. "I won't endanger innocent lives."

"Robb, I need to stay here. I can't leave now." She told him seriously. "I can't leave you to this alone. You need a friend here. Besides, if I wasn't present Walder would sense something was amiss." Robb listened, the realization dawning on him. A dark look came over his face, and he knotted his eyebrows in frustration, turning back to the map of Westeros in his command tent. He slammed his fist on the table angrily, running his hand through his hair in frustration and sighing.

"Gods! I'm the King who nearly lost the North. I've won every battle and nearly lost the war tonight, and I still might. And I can't even keep you safe from harm!" He said angrily.

"Robb, I promise you, I'm here because I want to be here. I refuse to let you face this alone. I need to be here." She told him, placing a hand on his back, feeling him tense at her touch, before finally giving in.

"Fine. Stay, but you must do exactly as I say. I won't have you in any more danger than absolutely necessary." He said, exasperated.

"Robb, there's something else I need to talk to you about" she told him. "About Theon." He looked up, raising his eyebrow in surprise.

"Theon? What of him?"

"Last night we... Well..." He cut her off.

"You didn't..." He trailed off, and she shook her head, explaining what had happened.

"And he stormed off afterwards" she concluded after telling Robb all that had transpired.

"Look, Maerisa, Theon's a good man, but you know your families' history, there's bad blood between your two houses. I can't speak for him. You have to talk to him." She sighed, exasperated. Robb patted her on the back, chuckling to himself.

"Of all the men here in this camp, you had to choose the one whose family has hated yours from the days of the first men." He laughed, and she did her best to smile.

"It's just, I really did think I felt something special there. Maybe I was wrong."

"Maerisa," he paused thinking "when you feel it, you feel it. Talk to him. If it's meant to be it's meant to be. I get your hurt and that he's angry, and I can't promise you it will work, but you have to talk to him." She smiled sadly, thanking Robb, giving him a warm hug. Over the last few days he had grown to be like an older brother to her, and she appreciated it.

She left his tent, moving through the camp, trying to find Theon. After a bit of searching, she found him in his tent, packing his bags.

"What are you doing?" She asked, surprising him as he placed his cloak in his chest.

"I'll be leaving soon. Robb wants me to go home to win him my father's support." He replied, not looking up as he packed.

"That's it? You're just going to leave? You're just going to run off?" She questioned.

"It's not like that." He explained.

"Oh isn't it? Then what is it? Too scared to stick with Robb through it?" He paused, and she saw him tense with anger. After a moment, he seemed to calm himself.

"Do not ever dare to question my own dedication to Robb." He spat, turning to her, a fury in his eyes, like a great storm was raging behind them. She took a step back, shocked by the fury and anger he contained.

"So are we simply not going to ever talk about what happened?" She said after a long pause once he had collected himself, as he brushed that stray hair back into place.

"There's nothing to talk about Fadyn."

"Fadyn. Greyjoy. Are we really going to pretend it never happened? That we dislike each other so?" She demanded, approaching him.

"Pretend it never happened?" He repeated, turning the words over. "There. Is. Nothing. To. Talk. About." He told her. "It can't work. My father would disown me for even speaking to a Fadyn, let alone..." He trailed off, becoming angry again and going silent.

"Let alone what? Loving one?!" She said, furious. She saw him hesitate for a moment. The slightest pause.

"Don't say that. That's not what this is. This was a mistake!" He said, throwing his arms up in the air in frustration. "Just a mistake! Don't try to imply it was anything more than that!" He shouted angrily. She paused for a moment, trying to take in what he had just said. She fought back tears in her eyes.

"Theon..." She pleaded.

"Don't call me that. Don't say my name." He told her quietly, his voice hard.

"Don't do this." She begged. He turned his back, returning to his work. "Please. I know I felt something, and you did too! Please! Don't do this to me! To yourself. I know I wasn't wrong! Tell me you felt something too!" She felt the tears welling in her eyes. He was quiet for a moment as she waited for his answer, desperate to know.

"I think..." He paused for a moment. "I think you should go."

"Coward!" She screamed, a stray tear running down her face. "Are you really so desperate to be accepted by a father who has made no attempt to love you or associate with you? Will you really throw this away? For that? Are you that terrified of your feelings?"

"There are no feelings here!" He shouted.

"You're not the man I thought you were."

"No. And therein lies the problem." He told her coldly, composing himself. _There was that Greyjoy wit of his_, she thought sadly. She shook her head, wiping the tears from her eyes. She would not let him see her cry, not let him know the hurt he caused. She turned, exiting the tent and making her way back to her own pavilion, before throwing herself onto her bed. She felt the tears running down her face, tasting the salt as she wept, a sob wracking her body, crying into her pillow. She heard someone enter the tent. She felt a hand placed on her shoulder, trying to sooth her.

"Calm yourself dear. We have a long night ahead of us." Her Uncle Scipio told her as she cried.

_Later that night_

The night had gone surprisingly well so far. She had sat quietly at her end of the table next to her uncle. She had danced with Stevron and Olyvar Frey, both whom served Robb, as well as a few other lords of note. She had been informed of the plan numerous times. Robb was aware of the details of the attack, and was thus able to counter every eventuality. He carried himself surprisingly well, considering at any minute he could be stabbed through the heart or peppered with arrows if something went wrong. He acted as though nothing was wrong, and displayed complete and total confidence and a degree of naivety. Would that she could be so naive. She and Theon had kept their distance the entire night, sitting at opposite ends of the table. Occasionally, they would exchange an icy glare.

"Something wrong?" Robb asked, his eyes immediately checking either side.

"No, no, it's not that. Things didn't exactly go well between Theon and I." She confessed.

"Perhaps it wasn't meant to be then." He told her. Either way, it didn't make her feel any better. The wedding was in full swing, and she could feel the climax building to the bedding, when she knew all the cards would be played. She only hoped that Robb knew what he was doing. Men drank and cheered, although she noticed many Northern Lords seemed to abstain from their drink, or drink slightly less than usual in the case of the Greatjon. Her own Uncle looked to the balcony every few minutes, seeming to check the band. Walder Frey sat contently on his seat, watching with a sinister look in his eye as the feast proceeded.

Soon, she heard the dreaded song that she knew would set the entire plot in motion. This was the moment where the fate of her life, the war, and Westeros would be decided. The Rains of Castamere drifted somberly through the great hall, echoing off the vaulted ceiling and bouncing off age old stone. Even the candles and torches seemed to flicker and wither as the song cast a gloomy tone over an otherwise pleasant evening. Walder rose his hand, quieting the great hall, and all eyes turned to him.

"Robb Stark," he began, and Robb stood, giving him a polite nod of his head. In the other corner of the room, Roose Bolton stood, moving towards Robb. The Greatjon and Patrek Mallister rose, intercepting him, the Greatjon acting very drunk and leaning on him, preventing him from approaching.

"My lord." Robb said politely.

"My lord." Walder Frey scoffed. "It appears even a king can be humble. It's good to remember the humble places we come from. It helps us to remember even kings are not above the rest of us, that they cannot scorn us."

"Indeed." Robb replied. "Especially since I have wronged you so."

"Yes well, the past is behind us I suppose" Walder said, standing despite his gout. "The words of my house are 'We take our tolls'. When you brought an army here, we had a deal. That one of my daughters would marry you. But you broke our bargain. You broke your oath, and proved disloyal. But all is well. One oath for another. We have a new toll, and now we have a new marriage to celebrate, and certain victory to come" he said, an angry tone in his voice. The Rains of Castamere was nearing its close, drifting lazily through the air. "And personally," he added "I would love for the festivities to begin." He shouted, slamming his fist on the table. Freys lept to their feet, before being met with swords and daggers at their throats. A volley of arrows slammed down the length of the table, causing the Freys to jump in surprise, each arrow embedding itself in the wood. The northern lords had beaten the Freys to the draw. An arrow slammed into the back of Walder Frey's seat, mere inches from him, and he yelped in surprise and Robb drew a long dagger, nearly eighteen inches, concealed in his boot.

"I agree." He said, looking around the room. "Some festivities would certainly be welcome." He said, his tone friendly but his grey eyes boring into Walder Frey. "Lord Frey, you've spoken of honor, and oaths, and loyalty. Yet here we stand. You would betray your lord, kill your king, all because of a personal slight not meant to offend, but merely to maintain a decent woman's honor. You, Walder Frey, who speak of the sanctity of oaths made before the gods, but who conspire to violate guest right and kill those who were under your roof, and under your protection. You, Walder Frey, who had the audacity to speak of betrayal, and yet plot to kill me, my mother, my wife, and my banner men." Robb shouted, approaching Walder, his dagger directed at Walder.

"I" he stammered, his eyes fixated on the blade mere feet from him ,"I don't understand... The wine... The weapons... The band" he stammered nervously.

"I know all about your plot." Robb began, not dropping his sword down for a moment. "I know you strengthened the wine you had served to us, I know the band was in fact a band of mercenaries who planned to unleash crossbows on us, I know all about the hidden weapons and armor. You've failed. My Rangers killed the mercenaries and replaced them" he said, gesturing to the cloaked, hooded figures who stood on the balcony, all with arrows knocked to their taut bows. "We switched the wine" he went on, detailing how in fact he had drugged the Frey's own wine, as well as encouraging each of his men to consume small doses of Bitterweed, which counteracted the alcohol's effects. As Robb went on, Walder's face paled, his look of satisfaction disappearing rapidly.

"But, but how?" He asked, at this point thoroughly confused.

"We intercepted a letter." Robb answered.

"My lord" Roose Bolton began, shoving past the Greatjon and Patrek and moving closer. "You should leave, its not safe here, I'll escort you. We must go."

"Restrain him" Robb ordered, and her uncle and Brynden Tully grabbed him, forcing him to the floor.

"My lord what is going on?" Roose shouted angrily. "I demand you tell them to release me!" He yelled.

"King Robb" Walder Frey said, standing to his feet before stumbling to the ground at Robb's feet. "I beg you! Forgive me! It wasn't my fault" he groveled. "It was the Lannisters, and Bolton! I swear it wasn't my idea! It was Bolton's! Yes! Bolton's! It was all his fault! His idea! I swear I'll be loyal! I beg of you! Forgive me!" He begged.

"I did no such thing! My King! I have no idea what he is talking about! Believe me! I have served you faithfully! Do not believe such lies!" Roose shouted.

"Oh shut up the both of you!" Robb said, silencing them. "Roose. I know all about this scheme. Rest assured, I shall not take this lightly." He promised, his eyes cold and furious. Then he turned to the hall. "Men! I know you have served the Freys! But now you see Lord Walder for what he truly is! Just a snake. I give you this one chance to prove your loyalty. Drop your weapons now, leave this hall, and I shall forgive you. Swear fealty to me, and serve me faithfully, and I shall forget your complicity in this incident." He said, addressing the Frey bannermen. Many of the knights and lords sworn to the Freys dropped their weapons quickly, exiting the hall, leaving only a few Freys who were pinned against the wall, their hands in the air and their weapons confiscated. Among the men guarding the Frey prisoners were Robb's own squires, Olyvar and Stevron Frey. They had chosen to stay loyal to him, and hadn't known of their father's plot. Walder Frey began to cackle maniacally, a knowing grin spreading across his face.

"And what is so funny my lord?" Robb asked, and Walder laughed.

"You may live!" He spat. "But your army will die. My men have orders to kill yours, they did not need an order from me, and it has already begun. Listen!" He said, satisfied. " You'll never escape here alive!"

"I hear nothing Lord Walder. In fact, I believe I hear the sounds of fellowship and revelry. I hear men laughing and drinking. Listen for yourself. There will be no slaughter tonight. Your son generously told your captains to stand down. There is peace. My Rangers killed those who chose to continue the plot already." The color drained from Walder's face once more, and his satisfied smirk was wiped from his face. He glared at Olyvar.

"Take them to the dungeons." Robb ordered, and Roose Bolton and the Freys were dragged from the room.

"Do you know what you've done? Traitors! Bastards!" Walder screamed at his sons as he was dragged from the room. "You'll burn in the worst circle of the seven hells for this! The gods despise a kinslayer!" He shouted, his voice echoing down the halls as he was taken away.

"Not as much as they despise an Oathbreaker." Robb said quietly, and it was over.

"Olyvar, Stevron, we shall talk on the morrow. There has been enough strife for one night." He said.


End file.
